LIBRARY 


W.  B.  POWELL. 


LINCOLN  ROOM 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


•  MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 

founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 
HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


Hi 


•.  ' 

Bk-v  ,— JVl'  .m 


jjg^te£3 

^S 


8p! 
m 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 


THE   TYPE   OF 


AMERICAN  GENIUS 


HISTORICAL  ROMANCE, 


RUFUS   BLANCHARD. 


WHEATON : 
R.    BLANCHARD  &  CO. 

1882. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1881, 

BY  RUFUS   BLANCHARD, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  at  Washington. 


77 3t 


INTRODUCTION. 


AMONG  the  first  forms  of  written  literature  poe- 
try was  to  be  found.  Why  not  ?  It  is  the  measure 
of  human  emotions.  It  searches  the  heart  and 
brings  to  light  those  subtle  forces  that  make  nations 
spring  into  existence  and  rise  in  grandeur.  It  is 
the  propelling  force  that  accumulates  and  concen- 
trates power,  and  vitalizes  this  power  into  active 
use  for  universal  good,  and  these  were  the  first 
ambitions  of  man. 

Nations  go  into  decadence  plethoric  with  physi- 
cal wealth,  but  impoverished  in  the  generous  senti- 
ment of  which  poetry  is  the  inspiration  ;  for  they 
are  like  a  body  without  a  soul, — impotent  to  econo- 
mize their  own  strength  and  make  it  harmonize 
with  the  general  welfare  necessary  to  their  preser- 
vation. 

The  man  whose  sphere  of  influence  is  limited 
within  the  range  of  his  immediate  associations,  may 
be  measured  in  intellectual  capacity  by  comparison 
with  those  who  lived  in  his  own  time  ;  but  he  who 
has  left  his  impress  on  the  age  in  which  he  lived, 
there  to  stand  as  an  index  of  its  genius,  or  as  a 
gauge  mark  of  human  progress,  must  be  measured 


4  IN  TROD  UC  TION. 

from  the  domestic  and  religious  evolutions  of  the 
world's  history,  for  these  called  him  into  being  even 
from  the  mystic  records  of  the  past,  as  their  force 
accumulated,  to  quicken  national  passions  into  the 
issues  which  he  turns  to  a  good  account,  when  thrust 
into  their  arena,  as  a  salutary  measure  for  the  state. 

Such  was  Abraham  Lincoln.  The  virtues  of  the 
American  pioneer,  nurtured  into  a  ripe  growth  by 
his  early  training,  were  his  inheritance  by  birth. 
This  inheritance  blended  with  the  element  drawn 
from  the  nursery  of  New  England  as  it  found  its 
way  to  the  border;  and  the  two  made  his  full 
rounded-up  character,  composed  of  the  most  pre- 
cious materials  that  old  and  new  states  afforded. 

Only  an  ideal  picture  can  verify  this,  because  it 
sprang  from  the  unwritten  law  which  transcends 
the  forum,  the  bench  and  the  sword ;  and  its  depth 
must  be  measured  through  the  passions  and  am- 
bitions that  constitute  the  type  of  American  genius. 
What  is  this  type  ?  It  is  the  mental  force,  the  con- 
science, the  destiny  of  the  nation ;  and  these  begin 
their  growth  in  the  cradle  and  refine  into  maturity  ; 
not  in  the  sunshine  of  flattery,  not  in  the  pleni- 
tude of  luxury,  but  often  from  beneath  the  clouds 
of  grief  and  adversity.  Here  grows  the  modest 
germ  of  power  destined  to  direct  the  nation  when 
a  vital  issue  is  thrust  upon  it,  which  makes  it  neces- 
sary to  bring  true  merit  to  the  front. 

America,  in  her  course  along  the  highways  of 
time,  has  passed  through  this  fire  safely  under  the 
guidance  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  whose  keen  and 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

facile  sense  gathered  force  to  it  from  the  tribunal 
of  its  best  thoughts.  Let  us  lift  the  veil  from  off 
the  dress  parade  of  jurisprudence  and  see  these 
thoughts  that  constitute  "  the  power  behind  the 
throne  " — where  they  came  from,  and  how  they  rose 
into  prominence,  timely  and  salutary  in  the  hour 
of  need. 

Of  the  characters  introduced  in  the  work  to  rep- 
resent these  waves  of  thought  as  they  rolled  over 
the  body  politic,  two  stand  prominent,  the  old  man 
and  Permilla.  These  characters  are  drawn  from 
the  best  elements  of  every-day  life,  and  are  the  in- 
carnation of  its  virtues  as  they  refined  into  exem- 
plary models.  Through  their  inspirations  the  end 
is  reached,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  following  pages. 


PROLOGUE. 

A  THOUGHT  upon  the  stream  of  time  is  cast, 
And  floating  on  along  its  mystic  shore 
With  gathering  force  as  centuries  are  past, 
It  bears  the  fruit  of  ages  gone  before. 

This  is  the  imaged  temple  of  the  mind      % 
Of  universal  man,  with  science  fraught ; 
The  great  inheritance  to  him  consigned 
By  Time's  unfolding  scroll  before  him  brought 

As  late  along  its  ever  flowing  stream 
Across  the  ocean's  main  a  nation  grew ; 
Under  the  genius  of  a  new  regime 
It  raised  the  flag  of  freedom  born  anew. 

And  justice  crowned  the  infant  nation's  brow 
With  laurels  from  the  forum  and  the  field ; 
While  nature's  gifts  with  plenteousness  endow 
Its  fields  of  harvest  with  a  golden  yield. 

But  later  still,  when  freedom's  sacred  name 
Was  tarnished  by  a  tyrannous  decree, 
Its  living  fires  kindled  to  a  flame ; 
And  blood  and  carnage  held  a  revelry. 

See  now  the  son  of  Inspiration  rise 
Amidst  the  tide  of  battle's  angry  strife, 
While  grateful  shouts  of  triumph  rend  the  skies 
Over  the  nation's  renovated  life  ! 


PROLOGUE. 

He  was  the  type  and  genius  of  his  age, 
Reared  in  the  school  of  bounteous  nature's  lore, — 
The  ruler,  hero,  counselor  and  sage, 
Whose  honor  to  the  mantle  which  he  bore 

Grew  through  the  training  of  the  nation's  heart 
Since  first  its  councils  in  the  forum  ruled, 
Incarnate  in  the  love  that  shares  its  part, 
In  public  virtue  from  the  cradle  schooled. 

No  vain  pretensions  faltered  on  his  tongue 
Beneath  a  subtle  implication  hid, 
But  jocund  naiveness  on  his  accents  hung 
Consistent  with  the  actions  which  he  did. 

The  monument  that  rises  o'er  his  grave, 
To  freedom's  cause  an  everlasting  shrine, 
Shall  memorize  the  sentiment  that  gave 
The  law  that's  written  by  a  hand  divine. 

As  future  time  uncoils  her  endless  chain, 
And  generations  fall  beneath  the  sod, 
Immortally  his  words  shall  live  again 
Like  sacred  echoes  from  the  voice  of  God. 


CANTO  I. 


CONCEALED  in  nature's  close  recluse, 
A  goose-quill  wooes  the  yielding  Muse ; 
Twin  offspring  bless  the  wedded  pair, 
And  tuneful  numbers  fill  the  air. 

Visions  of  life  before  the  eye 
Dance  like  a  Nymph  and  vanish  by 
Glowing  and  glimmering  like  a  flash 
As  onward  in  their  flight  they  dash. 

Of  imagery  the  pantomime, 
The  inward  view  of  man's  design, 
Unseen  except  the  veil  behind 
That  shadows  every  human  mind. 

Now  pray,  dear  Muse,  stray  up  time's  stream, 
And  from  the  past  let  visions  gleam, 
And  with  your  song  inspire  the  quill ; 
The  obedient  Muse  replied — "  I  will." 

From  the  old  tombs  she  sought  the  Gnome 
Who  dallies  round  where  muses  roam, 
And  from  the  specter  took  a  cast 
Preserved  by  shadows  of  the  past. 

Then  spread  her  wings  and  cleft  the  blue, 

And  into  mortal  sense  she  flew ; 

The  light  of  ages  streaked  the  van 

As  through  the  quill  the  Muse  began  : — 


10  THE  BOOK  OF  FATE. 

Four  centuries  past  a  virgin  world  unknown, 
Like  beauteous  statues  in  a  rough  hewn  stone, 
In  solemn  silence  slumbered  all  alone. 

No  paleface  hears  the  sound  when  thunders  roar, 

No  fields  revive  when  genial  showers  pour, 

No  ship  is  wrecked  when  tempests  lash  the  shore. 

The  crickets  sing,  but  not  beneath  the  hearth, 
The  little  birds  send  forth  their  songs  of  mirth 
As  if  they  held  the  land  by  right  of  birth. 

No  ax  resounds  within  the  forests  green, 
No  humming  mill  is  heard  or  cottage  seen, 
No  moving  ships  upon  the  lakes  serene. 

In  solemn  silence  stand  the  lofty  trees 

Whose  towering  tops  wave  gently  in  the  breeze — 

Support  the  eagle's  nest  and  house  the  bees. 

Unnumbered  autumns  had  profusely  spread 

Beneath  their  mottled  shades  a  leafy  bed, 

And  streams  unnumbered  through  their  mazes  led. 

« 

The  haughty  savage  plumes  his  scalp-lock  here 
Unconscious  still  of  danger  or  of  fear, 
While  on  the  chase  he  kills  the  flying  deer. 

E'en  here  within  a  savage  breast  is  shown 
Naive  reverence  for  a  deity  unknown, 
Except  through  nature's  mystic  book  alone. 

The  ocean  was  a  solitary  tide ; — 

A  pathless  wilderness ; — unknown — untried  ; — 

In  silent  grandeur  hid  and  mystified. 

The  Book  of  Fate  now  coming  to  the  light — 
As  time  its  pages  open  to  our  sight- 
Reveals  a  nation  rising  in  her  might. 

Some  wise  men  in  the  East  in  times  gone  by, 
Had  read  the  secrets  of  the  starry  sky, — 


THE  INDEX  STAR.  11 

Revealed  the  zodiac  signs  and  marked  the  spheres 
Of  planets  in  their  ever  rolling  years. 

High  in  the  heavens  there  stood  an  index  star, — 

The  nucleus  of  the  firmament  afar — 

A  light  to  mark  the  center  of  the  pole 

Round  which  the  heavenly  bodies  seem  to  roll ; — 

A  light  to  guide  the  mariner  o'er  the  seas 

Beyond  the  pillars  of  old  Hercules. 

While  kings  and  princes  in  that  chivalric  age 

Wasted  their  strength  in  battle's  venemous  rage 

To  fight  for  dogmas,  which  have  long  ago 

Been  banished  from  the  lists  of  earthly  woe. 

Under  the  guidance  of  this  central  star, 
Aspiring  Genius  mounts  the  ocean's  crest 
And  carves  his  name  where  living  glories  are, 
As  he  unveils  the  treasures  of  the  West. 

And  when  the  fifteenth  century  died  away, 
Resplendent  glory  crowned  her  twilight  gray  ; 
New  fields  for  science  now  are  brought  to  light 
And  up,  ambition  quickens  at  the  sight, — 

Old  superstitions  bow  before  the  fate 
Of  empires  rising  in  the  wave-bound  world 
Beyond  the  reach  of  bigotry  and  hate, 
Where  freedom's  banner  is  to  be  unfurled 
Amidst  the  wilds  majestic  o'er  the  seas, — 
The  ocean's  balance  ;— the  antipodes 
Of  the  old  orient,  whose  dates  disclaim 
The  late  chronology  of  the  Christian  name. 

Now  for  the  West  the  adventurous  sail  is  spread 
By  Spaniards,  French  and  sturdy  English  led. 
The  Spaniards,  in  their  search  for  golden  sands, 
Ransack  the  temples  made  by  Aztec  hands, 
And  scour  each  coast  along  the  virgin  shore, 
Insatiable  with  greed  to  gather  more. 


12  THE  SAVAGE. 

Up  the  deep  streams  the  Frenchmen  force  their  way 

With  swords  and  crosses  joined  in  one  array, 

To  win  with  one  alone,  or  both  combined, 

The  land  that  hitherto  had  been  a  blind 

Expanse  entombed  in  mystery  ;— 

A  world  of  wanton  waste  unknown  to  history. 

Across  the  ocean's  breast  the  English  bore 

The  rights  of  Magna  Charta,  and  the  lore 

Of  generations  in  the  service  spent 

In  learning  science  on  the  continent. 

Through  many  an  ambushed  path  and  bloody  plain, 

They  penetrate  the  wilderness  domain, 

Spread  out  beneath  a  canopy  of  green, 

Where  shining  lakes  and  rivers  intervene. 

The  conquered  savage  breathes  a  hopeful  prayer 

To  the  great  Spirit  whose  protecting  care 

Has  ever  watched  him  from  that  "  equal  sky 

To  which  his  dog  shall  bear  him  company." 

But  now  in  vain  he  plights  the  sacrifice, 

In  vain  he  fights,  in  vain  he  prays  and  dies. 

Nor  leaves  behind  a  monument  to  tell 

How  on  the  battle  field  he  bravely  fell. 

His  conquerors  the  only  history  write 

How  he  was  vanquished  in  the  unequal  fight. 

Religion,  law  and  science  take  the  place 

Inherited  from  his  departed  race. 

In  science  all  the  world  at  once  agree ; 

For  in  its  sunny  fields  no  mystery 

Is  hidden  from  the  analyzing  mind ; — 

Its  range  is  free,  its  research  unconfined 

As  through  the  plenitude  of  boundless  space 

It  measures  out  each  planet  in  its  place. 

Not  so  with  law  or  with  religious  lore, 

'Tis  true  they  both  one  common  God  adore, 


CELESTIAL    COUNCIL.  13 

This  nature  teaches  as  her  great  command 
From  her  own  book  which  all  can  understand. 
But  how  this  God  to  man  reveals  his  will, 
Or  how  we  may  his  just  designs  fulfill, 
These  are  the  problems  that  diversify 
And  oft  perplex  our  faith  for  reasons  why 
That  this  or  that  should  measure  out  the  love 
That's  due  from  man  below  to  God  above. 

There  is  a  measure  in  a  spiritual  sense 
To  mortal  wealth  in  just  benevolence  ; 
Not  always  he  who  makes  the  ready  prayer, 
Weighed  in  this  sense,  can  die  a  millionaire, — 
But  those  whose  charities  are  broad  and  sweet  ; 
Who  walk  the  narrow  way  with  willing  feet ; 
Who  live  and  breathe  not  for  themselves  alone 
Like  hermits  to  the  love  of  man  unknown. 

These  are  the  millionaires  who  cross  the  stream 
And  carry  with  them  to  the  new  regime, 
Securely,  to  that  land  of  nobler  gains, 
The  adornments  which  a  spotless  life  maintains. 
Their  souls  in  heaven  take  the  highest  place, 
And  gather  nearest  to  the  Throne  of  Grace  ; 
Their  presence  still  we  feel  while  on  our  way, 
To  guide  our  footsteps  lest  we  go  astray. 

When  the  new  world  was  shown  to  mortal  eyes, 
And  barbarism  had  paid  its  sacrifice, 
A  Council  then  was  held  in  heavenly  space, 
To  turn  the  ambition  of  the  human  race 
To  nobler  fields  of  culture  and  of  weal, 
Which  science  might  explore  or  art  reveal. 
To  this  great  end  the  angels  with  the  Muse 
Met  with  these  spirits  to  unseal  their  views. 

Beyond  the  reach  of  telescopic  view 
The  spectral  delegates  together  flew, 


14  THE   ISSUE. 

Nor  tarried  till  they  reached  the  distant  spheres, 

Where  comets  dance  to  balance  the  arrears 

In  equilibrium  lost  in  sun  or  star, 

Lest  from  its  orbit  it  should  go  ajar. 

Here  in  the  far-off  realms  of  space  untold, 

Enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  vapored  gold, 

These  guardian  angels  of  our  tiny  earth 

Sat  in  grave  council  o'er  a  nation's  birth. 

In  the  broad  wilds  between  two  oceans'  foam, 

Where  wandering  exiles  there  might  find  a  home  — 

And  leave  behind  the  tyrannous  refrain 

That  rankles  through  the  inquisition's  chain, 

And  cringes  in  the  shadow  of  a  rod 

Raised  o'er  the  conscience  in  the  name  of  God. 

The  rival  nations  represented  there 

Were    the   three   powers   of  England,  Spain  and 

France, 

Whose  spiritual  delegates  with  each  a  prayer 
Set  up  their  varied  claims  in  suppliance 
Before  the  majesty  of  Heaven's  decree 
That  holds  the  world  within  its  destiny. 
The  issue  hung  not  on  imposing  power 
That  rides  tumultuous  with  the  moving  tide, 
Nor  with  the  servile  voices  of  the  hour 
To  witless  brains  and  clannish  rights  allied, 
Shouting  along  the  paths  of  by-gone  fame 
In  quest  of  honor  through  an  empty  name  ; — 
These  are  the  vanities  that  mortals  tempt, 
But  from  which  Heavenly  Councils  are  exempt. 

Oh  !  rulers  of  the  nations,  bond  or  free, 
If  from  your  eyes  the  scales  of  time  could  fall, 
And  into  Heavenly  Councils  you  could  see 
The  compensating  force  that  offsets  all 
The  evil  deeds  and  selfish  aims  of  man, 
In  all  the  ages  since  the  world  began, 


THE   OLD  MAN.  15 

With  circumspection  you  would  wear  the  crown, 
And  through  the  ends  of  justice  seek  renown. 
Where  is  the  plighted  faith  your  lips  have  sworn, 
And  where  the  laurels  which  your  crowns  have  worn? 
Forgotten — vanished  with  the  passing  hour, 
That  measured  out  the  tenure  of  your  power ; 
While  in  some  humble  tenant  of  the  earth, 
Unknown  to  fame, —  untitled  from  his  birth, — 
There  rises  in  the  distance  from  afar, 
Resplendent  in  the  heavens,  a  shining  star, 
The  nation's  hope  of  freedom  to  fulfill, 
Obedient  to  the  people's  earnest  will. 

America,  this  man  is  yours  to  be 
According  to  the  will  of  Heaven's  decree, 
Recorded  when  the  angels  first  began 
To  write  the  good  and  bad  of  fickle  man  ; 
And  when  the  bad  so  far  transcends  the  good 
That  vice  alone  can  stand  where  virtue  stood. — 
Then  revolution  in  her  wanton  power 
Uplifts  her  arm  in  vengeance  to  devour 
What  jurisprudence  in  her  vain  pretense 
Has  tried  to  substitute  for  common  sense. 

And  now  a  moral  hero  let  us  find, 

Who  weighs  in  even  scales  with  vision  blind. 

There  was  an  artist  strong  of  purpose, 

Eccentric,  faithful,  loving  and  beloved 

By  all  who  live  and  grow 

In  sweet  affection's  ways. 

He  lived,  as  artists  often  do, 

In  simple  habitudes. 

His  board  was  frugal,  and  desire 

Knocked  ever  at  his  door 

Before  supply  was  ushered  in. 

He  never  ate  till  hunger  bade, 

Nor  rested  until  weariness  did  plead. 


16  THE   OLD  MAN. 

His  simple  cottage  was  adorned 

Outside  by  nature's  hand  ; 

Inside  with  easel,  pallet,  brush, 

And  canvas  yet  unfinished, 

With  queer  devices  gleaming  o'er  it, 

Personifying  deepest  hate, 

Revenge  and  desperate  aims. 

And  all  the  passionate  thrills 

Which  swell  the  human  breast, 

And  all  the  holy  thoughts 

That  devotees  could  think, 

And  all  the  sentiment 

That  sweet  platonic  love  could  feel 

When  the  young  heart  is  in  its  toils, — 

These  were  the  toys  he  played  with 

On  the  canvas. 

What  to  him  were  wealth, 

Position  high,  or  fame  ? 

He  had  a  silent  charm 

Which  could  o'ertop  them  all. 

His  ready  stroke  could  stamp 

A  human  face  with  guilt  and  shame  ; 

And  woe  betide  the  potentate 

Whose  faithless,  wayward  rule 

Called  forth  his  caricaturing 

In  his  quizzing  moods. 

He  had  a  daughter  young  and  beauteous ; 

She  was  his  pride,  his  inspiration  ; 

Nor  his  alone — she  won  all  hearts, 

While  yet  so  young,  so  kind,  so  artless 

And  obedient  to  her  sire. 

Wealth  played  the  hopeless  lover 

At  her  feet,  but  naught  availed. 

"  None  but  an  artist 

Shall  my  daughter  wed," 

Said  the  old  man  ; 


THE  OLD  MAN.  17 

But  one  there  was  whose  passionate  heart 
Impelled  him  on  to  woo. 
What  were  a  few  years'  toil  to  him 
To  win  so  sweet  a  prize  ? 
He  bade  the  girl  a  languishing  good-bye. 
A  stranger  in  a  distant  land, 
Dead  to  the  world  and  its  allurements, 
To  everything  but  art  and  love, 
He  studied  at  the  easel ; 
Whilom  the  years  are  spent, 
And  now,  returned  again, 
He  seeks  the  imaged  place 
With  faltering  steps,  as  if  each  one 
Were  measured  by  decades  of  thought, 
In  entities  of  moments. 
He  enters  in 

Her  smiles  dispel  his  doubts  ; 
But  cruel  fears  arise. 
What  if  the  old  man  should  captious  be 
And  doom  me  back  to  serve  again, 
As  Jacob  served  a  second  time  for  Rachel  ? 
Unconscious  what  he  did 
While  in  these  pensive  moods, 
He  paints  a  fly  upon  the  household  picture. 
'Twas  just  a  little  silly  fly 
With  gossamer,  wings. 
And  now  our  Romeo  hies  himself  away 
And  leaves  his  Juliet  alone  upon  the  balcony. 
She  watched  her  sire  when  he  returned, 
And  as  he  drew  his  handkerchief 
To  brush  away  the  fly,  she  says : 
"  Why  pa,  that's  not  a  fly, 
It's  just  a  bit  of  ivory-black 
That  William  put  upon  the  scene. 
Is  he  an  artist,  pa  ?  " 
Next  came  a  priest  ;— 
2 


18  THE    TRANSITION. 

And  William  took  away  the  girl, 
With  tender  parting  from  her  sire, — 
Venerable  with  age  and  honor's  strong  embrace. 

Night  came,  and  like  a  canvas  dark  and  wide 
The  heavens  were  opened  to  the  old  man's  eyes, 
And  in  the  distance  dimly  he  descried 
A  golden  cloud  in  mystic  form  arise. 

The  gentle  spirits  only  come  at  night, 
When  nature's  busy  toils  are  hushed  to  rest, 
And  quietude  and  silence  both  invite, 
Of  all  the  soul's  desires,  the  loveliest. 

And  in  the  cloud  the  spirit  forms  were  seen 
In  pensive  humors  on  the  Book  of  Fate; 
While  in  their  midst  sat  the  Celestial  Queen 
Receiving  messages  of  earthly  state. 

Now  o'er  the  old  man's  couch  sweet  slumbers  crept. 

A  youthful  angel  hovered  o'er  his  bed 

And  touched  the  vital  chord,  to  intercept 

The  stream  of  life  that  his  frail  body  fed. 

Then  with  his  soul  immortal  flew  away, 

And  left  behind  its  tenement  of  clay. 

Swift  as  electric  flashes  through  the  air 
Together  flew  the  adolescent  pair, 
And,  in  an  instant,  reached  the  Heavenly  gate 
Where  sat  the  Council  on  the  coming  state ; 
When  ushered  in  before  their  wondering  eyes, 
The  earth  in  all  its  shame  and  glory  lies. 

The  book  of  records  then  was  brought  to  view 

Of  dead  and  living  nations,  old  and  new ; 

Of  those  who  flourished  ere  the  time-worn  bed 

Of  the  historic  Nile  its  waters  led 

Across  the  Egyptian  plain  of  marshy  strands, 

And  drained  its  interval  of  fertile  lands 


RECORDS.  19 

On  which  the  venerable  Cheops  rose, 
The  sepulcher  where  ancient  kings  repose. 

And  in  this  book  the  Arabians  held  a  place 

Among  the  records  of  the  human  race. 

For  revelations  in  the  starry  spheres, 

Where  worlds  unnumbered  circle  out  their  years, 

And  for  the  invention  of  the  digits  nine 

A  living  monument  of  arts  design ; 

Of  science  proud,  the  everlasting  key 

With  which  to  lift  its  veil  of  mystery. 

Old  Zoroaster  crowns  his  age  with  light 
From  nature's  book  revealed  to  mortal  sight 
Through  sage  philosophy,  which  lived  and  grew 
Till,  under  Cyrus,  it  revived  anew, 
When  Babylon  fell  before  its  vengeful  sword 
According  to  the  ancient  prophet's  word. 

Confucius'  name  stood  bold  upon  the  page, 
A  monument  of  a  benignant  age, 
Of  which  there  still  remains  a  living  trace 
Among  the  dusky  children  of  his  race. 

Next,  came  the  Grecian  records :  amplified 
With  every  virtue  to  the  world  allied. 
Here  hallowed  pages  of  the  book  unroll 
The  works  of  Plato  on  the  immortal  soul ; 
And  Aristotle's  ethics :  wise,  profound, 
Throughout  the  learned  world  alike  renowned ; 
And  Socrates,  the  old  philosopher, 
Whose  moral  code  unchallenged  we  prefer 
To  imitations  of  his  native  sense, 
In  borrowed  forms  of  far-fetched  eloquence. 

The  records  of  that  learned  but  simple  age 
Present  a  noble  picture  on  time's  page, 
When  garnered  in  the  storehouse  of  the  mind 
To  serve  the  common  wants  of  all  mankind — 


20  THE  DECREE. 

A  link  to  bind  the  present  to  the  past, 
Through  many  an  age  of  revolution  cast. 

From  here  across  the  Adriatic  flew 
The  science  which  the  Grecians  only  knew, 
The  archives  of  imperial  Rome  to  grace 
With  monuments  which  time  can  ne'er  efface. 

While  marble  shafts  may  crumble  and  decay, 
And  whispering  winds  may  blow  their  dust  away — 
Thoughts  are  the  only  things  that  ever  live  ; — 
The  best  inheritance  that  nations  give ; 
And  twice  and  thrice  immortal  is  the  soul 
Of  him  whose  thoughts  shall  live  as  ages  roll. 

A  great  hiatus  now  o'erwhelmed  the  world 
That  art  and  science  into  ruin  hurled, 
When  fell  imperial  Rome  before  the  tide 
Of  hardy  northmen  vengefully  allied, 
And  savage  Goths  and  Vandals  revel  where 
Great  Caesar  sat  in  the  imperial  chair. 

But  in  the  custody  of  time's  recoil, 

That  oft  revives  what  barbarous  hands  despoil, 

The  learning  of  the  world  was  tided  through 

The  ages  dark,  again  to  live  anew  ; 

And  from  the  glorious  records  of  the  past 

The  shadows  of  the  future  may  be  cast. 

The  Heavenly  Council  now  in  silence  hung, 
When  spoke  an  angel's  voice  with  silvery  tongue, 
Then  loud  hosannas  through  the  council  ran 
As  she  from  God  revealed  his  destined  plan. 

"  Not  to  ambitious  England,  France  or  Spain 
Shall  be  vouchsafed  the  country  o'er  the  main, 
But  a  new  flag  in  glory  shall  arise, 
Ornate  with  emblems  from  the  starry  skies ; 


CONSECRA  T1ON.  2 1 

As  long  as  justice  nestles  in  its  fold, 

In  triumph  it  shall  stand  through  time  untold. 

"  From  this  inheritance  of  nations  past 
Select  your  subjects  when  the  '  die  is  cast;' 
Then  on  the  wild  and  fallow  western  plain 
Shall  Greece  and  Rome  revive  and  live  again. 

"  The  willing  spirits  sitting  at  your  feet 
Await  your  orders,  now  the  plans  complete. 
They  are  the  choicest  ever  yet  supplied 
As  messengers  to  Heaven  and  earth  allied. 
Let  them  be  guardians  of  each  infant  mind 
That  by  prophetic  birth  has  been  designed 
The  Independence  of  the  States  United 
To  consecrate  and  swear  to  freedom  plighted." 

Thus  spoke  the  voice  of  the  Celestial  Queen 
When,  round  her  gathered  with  obedient  mien, 
The  guardian  spirits  which  her  new  decree 
Had  chosen  for  the  nation  yet  to  be. 

As  twigs  are  bent  and  stately  trees  inclined, 
They  are  to  gently  mould  the  rising  mind 
From  childhood  to  the  forum  or  the  field, 
The  truth  to  succor,  or  the  sword  to  wield. 

To  each,  she  gives  a  separate  place  to  fill, 

According  to  the  genius  of  his  will  ; 

For  Heaven  is  not  a  smooth  and  even  plain, 

Where  song  and  praise  and  prayer  forever  reign 

In  one  unvaried  stream  of  harmony, 

With  nothing  more  to  do  than  hear  and  see  ; 

But  endless  is  its  field  that  doth  invite 

From  sphere  to  sphere  the  busy  angels'  flight, 

To  all  the  acts  of  man  in  heaven  rehearse 

Throughout  the  mazes  of  the  universe. 


22  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Last  of  the  whole  she  came  to  the  old  man, 
Whose  life  in  Heaven  now  had  just  began. 
"Ah  ! "  cries  the  angel  with  celestial  glance, 
"Your  soul  on  earth  in  Heaven  has  made  advance. 

"  Before  again  to  earth  you  are  to  stray, 
We'll  pilot  you  along  the  milky  way, 
Through  paradise,  where  shines  the  sacred  light 
That  earthly  wrongs  will  compensate  with  right. 

"A  future  crisis  destined  to  arise, 

Will  raise  an  altar  for  a  sacrifice  ; 

When  sanguine  passions  swell  the  rising  tide, 

And  human  rights  in  madness  are  defied, 

In  the  new  nation  of  our  guardian  care, 

Then,  in  your  faith  will  be  intrusted  there 

The  just  refrain  that  spreads  its  powerful  charm 

And  timely  vengeance  brings  to  freedom's  arm, 

Protected  by  your  ever  ready  hand 

Through  all  the  paths  that  Heaven  for  you  hath 

planned. 

And  when  again  to  earth  you  shall  descend, 
Let  inspiration  there  your  cause  defend. 

"  The  source  from  whence  the  noblest  virtues  rise 
Within  the  lowly  vale  of  wisdom  lies. 
Train  up  a  youth  this  measure  to  fulfill, 
Ordained  in  just  accord  with  Heaven's  will. 

"  Select  him  from  this  sphere  of  modest  range, 
And  watch  his  growing  mind  through  every  change 
From  childhood  to  the  earnest  man  of  thought, 
In  all  the  wisdom  of  the  nation  taught, 
From  every  voice  that  speaks  its  honest  will 
The  ends  of  even  justice  to  fulfill. 
Exempt  from  vain  pretension  he  must  be, 
With  keen  discretion  armed,  and  charity, 


THE   COUNCIL   ENDED.  23 

"  To  weigh  in  equal  scales  the  substance  shown, 

By  which  the  ends  of  justice  may  be  known. 

From  every  mouth  by  advocacy  tried, 

With  equal  voice  from  each  contending  side, 

With  no  mysterious  fallacies  distraught, 

Or  prestige  through  pretended  wisdom  brought. 

"  If  feeble  man  transcends  this  just  demand 
The  penalty  will  come  through  Heaven's  hand." 

The  angel  now  dismissed  the  court  with  grace, 
And  all  the  Council  vanished  into  space ; 
Each  to  his  sphere  amidst  the  starry  skies, 
Where  world  on  world  along  its  orbit  flies. 


CANTO    II. 

THE  spirits  now  to  earth  retire, 
To  kindle  high  the  glowing  fire 
That  lit  the  path  to  liberty 
Along  New  England's  emerald  lea, 
And  consecrate  the  infant  mind 
To  Freedom's  love  and  law  combined, 
And  in  the  nursery  plant  a  charm 
To  fortify  the  nation's  arm. 

Here  dreamy  maidens'  thoughts  repose ; 

Here  youthful  love  with  radiance  glows  ; 

Here  shines  the  light  of  infant  years, 

Its  fulsome  joys,  its  fleeting  tears  ; 

And  here  the  Muse's  rustic  lays 

Sing  of  the  early  school-boy  days — 

The  little  brooks  that  crossed  the  maize, 

And  trickled  down  its  shadowed  ways 

In  wooded  valleys,  interlined 

With  hanging  rocks,  where  ivy  twined 

Its  tendrils  round  the  mosses  gray 

In  variegated  drapery; 

The  heather  green,  the  shady  fen, 

The  chilly  cave,  the  rugged  glen, 

The  squirrels  and  the  little  birds, 

The  sheep,  and  lambs,  and  lowing  herds, 

The  moving  winds  that  shook  the  trees 

& 

And  made  them  pay  their  autumn  fees 
In  rich  abundance  scattered  round 
Along  the  crispy  autumn  ground ; 

24 


NEW  ENGLAND.  25 

The  ripened  corn  in  yellow  ear — 
Glad  harvest  of  the  golden  year  ; 
The  bulky  crops  of  meadows  green 
Which  'twixt  the  uplands  intervene, 
The  orchard  and  the  cider  mill 
And  press,  which  did  the  juice  distill, 
The  reddish  stream,  the  hollow  straw 
With  which  the  flowing  wine  to  draw, 
The  wintry  snow,  the  coasting  sled, 
Which  down  the  hill  so  swiftly  sped, 
The  little  mimic  battle  fray, 
Where  snowballs  held  the  foe  at  bay, 
The  icy  flight  on  wings  of  steel, 
With  which  is  shod  the  limber  heel, 
The  mountain  and  the  streams  that  glide 
Adown  her  steep  and  rugged  side, 
Descending  through  the  cool  ravine, 
Enveloped  in  the  evergreen, 
Or  tumbling  o'er  the  rocky  gray 
And  sending  back  a  silvery  spray ; 
The  wild  wind's  voice  of  minstrelsy 
While  whispering  from  tree  to  tree, 
Or  chiming  through  the  cragged  lea 
And  roaring  o'er  the  crested  sea, 
Or  whirling  through  the  heavens,  whence 
The  clouds  are  hung  in  negligence 
O'er  cottages  and  fields  aglow, 
Where  hill  or  mountain  side  inclines, 
Where  solemn  churches,  white  as  snow, 
Stand  sentinels  among  the  pines. 

Perhaps  some  stubborn  creeds  they  taught 

With  unrelenting  rhetoric  ; 

But  whether  this  was  so  or  not,— 

Forgetfulness  is  sure  and  quick, 

When  prompt  recoils  the  burdened  brain, 

To  modify  an  overstrain. 


26  INDEPENDENCE. 

And  strong  of  frame  and  purpose  grew 
New  England  lads  and  lasses  too  : 
Like  germ-cells  planted  in  the  earth 
To  grow  into  a  nation's  birth 
According  to  the  will  of  Heaven, 
In  its  majestic  Council  given. 

And  when  the  mighty  issue  came 
That  made  the  fires  of  freedom  flame, 
Then  Plymouth  Rock  attuned  the  lyre 
That  set  the  nation's  heart  on  fire, 
And  "  Freedom  "  was  the  battle-cry 
That  cast  the  coming  nation's  die. 

When  Muses  into  history  go, 
They  skip  the  crimsoned  fields  of  strife, 
Which  interlude  the  progress  slow 
Of  hig-her  aims  in  social  life. 


e> 


So  much  dead  weight  and  useless  gear 
Would  lumber  up  the  poet's  page ; 
And  harsh  the  song  would  strike  the  ear 
Attuned  to  battle's  noisy  rage. 

No  ! — rather  let  the  glorious  end 
That  follows  in  the  train  of  war, 
By  dreamy  inspiration  penned 
Or  visionary  metaphor. 

Infuse  the  song  with  softer  strains 
Than  dying  groans  on  battle-plains. 

The  cause  is  won,  no  matter  how, — 
As  far  as  Muses  care  to  see ; 
The  sword  is  beat  into  the  plow, 
And  spears  are  made  to  prune  the  tree ; 

And  sweeter  now  it  is  to  toil 
When  independence  crowns  the  soil. 


ALFRED  AND    GRACE.  27 

The  plowboy  tills  the  rugged  field, 

The  bleating  flocks  their  fleeces  yield  ; 

The  product  of  the  humming  wheel 

Is  measured  on  the  whirling  reel, 

And  silence  through  the  household  spreads* 

While  the  fair  spinner  counts  the  threads. 

The  rattling  loom  the  matron  plies, 
While  right  and  left  the  shuttle  flies. 
By  shifting  reeds  the  thread  is  twilled 
With  which  the  web  is  slowly  filled. 

Beyond  the  stream  that  turned  the  mill, 
The  school-house  stood  on  yonder  hill, 
To  which  a  circling  footpath  led, 
That  boys  and  girls  together  tread,— 
Along  the  margin  of  the  brook, 
Where  anglers  drop  the  baited  hook  ; 
And  through  the  stony  pastures  gray, 
With  moss-clad  hassocks  on  the  way, 
And  interspersed  with  wintergreen, 
The  mosses'  fuzzy  tops  between, 
While  ferns  and  leaves  of  silvery  hue 
Along  the  children's  roadside  grew. 

Grace  was  a  child  but  seven  years  old. 
Her  hair  was  colored  almost  gold, — 
And  hung  in  many  a  velvet  fold. 

With  bluish  ribbons  neatly  tied, 
Or  curled  above  her  forehead  wide 
In  cowlicks,  one  on  either  side. 

*  In  the  very  early  days  of  domestic  manufacture  of  cloth,  the  yarn 
was  taken  from  the  wheel  spindle  on  a  hand  reel.  This  was  a  wooden 
tool  two  feet  long,  with  a  cross-bar  on  each  end,  the  two  bars  being  at 
right  angles  with  each  other.  Forty  revolutions  of  the  wheel  made  one 
knot,  the  requisite  length  for  the  warp  of  a  web  of  cloth.  It  was  a 
dextrous  feat  to  do  the  reeling,  and  a  careful  one;  as  any  miscount  in  the 
number  of  threads  would  make  trouble  in  laying  out  the  web- 


28  ALFRED  AND   GRACE. 

Her  dimpled  cheeks  were  faintly  stained 
With  mottlings  like  the  lilies  grained, 
Which  nature's  varied  hand  had  trained. 

While  going  to  the  school  one  day, 
Behind  she  lingered  on  the  way 
To  pick  the  flowers  of  early  May. 

When  far  ahead  as  she  could  see, 

Her  playmates  in  their  thoughtless  glee 

Were  passing  on. — "  Why,  stop  for  me  !"- 

In  childish  confidence  she  cried, 
When,  all  but  one,  they  quickly  hide 
Behind  the  trees  the  path  beside. 

But  Alfred,  better  known  as  "Fred," 
With  nimble  footstep  backward  sped, 
And  soothed  her  fancied  lonesome  dread 

With  honied  words  of  boyish  cheer, 
That  compensate  for  grief  or  fear, 
And  turn  aside  the  childish  tear. 

Years  passed  along  : — and  Alfred  grew 
To  manly  strength  and  stature  too  — 
In  theory  and  practice  true. 

And  Gracie, — what  a  witching  child  ! 
Mischievous,  frolicsome  and  wild, 
From  older  cares  her  youth  beguiled. 

No  more  could  Alfred  lead  her  o'er 
Across  the  stream  as  oft  before, 
Bridged  with  a  log  from  shore  to  shore  :- 

For,  springing  from  his  hand,  she  flew 

Alone  across  the  pearly  blue 

With  speed  to  keep  her  balance  true. 


ALFRED   AND   GRACE.  29 

* 

This  inward  vexed  the  gallant  boy, 
To  think  that  Grace  should  be  so  coy 
To  temper  smiles  with  such  alloy. 

Yet,  brimming  in  his  heart,  there  preyed 
A  tender  passion  for  the  maid, 
Which  face  and  eyes  had  oft  betrayed. 

Without  the  guidance  of  a  chart 

That  teaches  how  to  win  the  heart, — 

As  mariners  are  taught  to  sail 

And  clear  the  coast  when  comes  a  gale.   . . 

Armed  with  her  naive  simplicity, 

From  preconcerted  dalliance  free, 

Grace  won  all  hearts,  both  old  and  young, 

And  every  one  her  praises  sung. 

For,  when  sweet  beauty  crowns  the  face, 
Transcendent  is  the  winning  grace 
That  through  its  flowery  path  will  shine 
Apparently  without  design. 

Just  as  the  pearly  dew  is  seen 
Most  on  the  leaves  of  brightest  green, — 
So  love  and  sympathy  will  twine 
Around  the  best  and  sweetest  shrine 
Where  rests  a  fond  and  loving  heart 
That  never  felt  an  envious  smart. 

'Twas  evening,  when  the  sunny  rays 

Had  vanished  in  the  summer  haze,  » 

That  Grace  and  Alfred,  arm  in  arm, 

Were  walking  o'er  the  homestead  farm. 

What  if  the  sun  was  out  of  sight  ? — 
The  moon  and  stars  reflect  his  light 
As  much  as  lovers  care  to  see 
In  tender  passion's  revelry. 


30  ALFRED  AND    GRACE. 

•» 

Their  circling  way  through  shadows  led, 
By  piney  foliage  canopied, 
Through  which  the  whispering  breezes  sung 
On  tuneful  harps  by  nature  strung. 

The  soft  refrain  of  kindling  love 
That  lifts  the  swelling  heart  above, 
The  hermitage  of  selfish  gains 
That  bind  the  soul  with  menial  chains 
And  loads  the  heart  with  Cupid's  spoils, 
The  heritage  of  lovelit  toils. 

Though  Alfred  was  a  novice  yet 

In  worldly  cares,  by  wiles  beset, 

Nobility  within  his  soul 

Had  stamped  him  on  a  hero's  roll ; 

And  Cupid's  fires  within  his  breast 

Could  never  make  his  honor  rest 

Unmingled  with  the  love  devout 

That  burned  within  and  glowed  without. 

In  love's  and  honor's  strong  embrace 

He  rested  his  propitious  case: — 

"Dear  Gracie,"  said  the  impassioned  boy, 

In  tones  which  lovers  true  employ, 

"Our  childish  spring  is  past  till  May 
Together  on  life's  blithesome  way, 
And  must  we  from  each  other  stray 
Through  summer's  toils  from  day  to  day?  — 

"  Or,  through  life's  golden  harvest  trace, 

9  '  O  O 

By  separate  paths,  our  resting  place, 
Till  winter's  touch  on  either  face 
Shall  stamp  it  with  his  last  embrace  ? 

"  The  toils  of  twenty  summers  past 
Have  o'er  my  head  their  shadows  cast. 
Now,  manhood's  pith  is  in  my  veins, 
These  muscular  hands  must  take  the  reins ; 


ALFRED  AND   GRACE.  31 

And,  westward,  toward  the  setting  sun, 
My  start  in  life  shall  be  begun. 

"  To-morrow  is  the  eventful  day 
When  first  from  home  my  feet  shall  stray ; 
Some  years  may  roll  time's  endless  chain 
Ere  you  and  I  shall  meet  again. 

"And  when  the  cares  of  life  shall  rest 
Within  my  young  untutored  breast, 
A  place  is  still  reserved  for  thee 
Sacred  to  my  first  memory. 

"And  now,  dear  Gracie,  we  must  part 
Without  a  word  to  bind  the  heart;  — 
Without  a  vow  to  wedlock  plighted, 
Lest  conies  a  wrong  that  ne'er  is  righted. 

"  But  in  that  silent  charm  we'll  rest 
That  reigns  within  each  faithful  breast 
To  quicken  there  the  crimson  flow 
That  in  each  faithful  heart  shall  glow." 

Her  father's  gate  they  slowly  gain  ;  — 
Some  lingering  whispers  still  remain 
To  fill  the  measure  of  the  heart 
Ere  sentimental  lovers  part. 


CANTO  III. 

The  scene  of  this  canto  begins  on  the  Merrimac  river,  some  miles 
above  Tyngsborough,  Massachusetts,  from  whence  a  line  of  stages  then 
ran  westward  through  the  Mohawk  Valley,  in  the  state  of  New  York, 
and  thence  to  the  headwaters  of  the  Allegheny  river  just  over  the  Penn- 
sylvania line. 

IN  the  land  of  the  Pilgrims  no  happier  age 

Was  ever  recorded  on  history's  page, 

Than  the  time  when  the  stage-coach  enlivened  the 

street 
With  all  of  its  paraphernalia  complete. 

And  when  we  look  back  to  that  old-fashioned  time, 
Preserved  in  our  memory  and  treasured  in  rhyme, 
How  we  sigh  for  the  social  amenities  then 
That  survived  through  that  age  but  can  ne'er  live 
again ! 

When  the  people  grew  gray  in  the  home  of  their 

birth, 

In  the  fullness  of  joy  and  the  measure  of  mirth. 
Contented  in  mind  in  their  fortunate  lot, 
Without  the  excesses  by  luxury  brought. 

When  the  old  institutions  of  New  England's  time 
Were  gathering  strength  in  their  glory  and  prime — 
The  pudding  and  beans,  and  the  "  Rye  Indian  " 

bread, 
The  cider  and  apples  so  sparkling  and  red. 

The  thanksgiving  day,  when  the  summer  had  ceased, 
And  the  goslin  was  roasted  and  set  for  a  feast 

32 


THE   OLD  STAGE   COACH.  33 

For  two  generations  of  children  away — 
Returned  to  their  home  to  be  jolly  and  gay. 

Away  with  your  steamboats  and  railroads! — away 
With  your  mates  and  your  captains  accoutered  in 

gray, 
And  your  railroad  conductors  with   lanterns  and 

punches, 
And  ten-minute  stations  for  whisky  and  lunches  ! 

There  is  more  food  for  poetry  in  the  old  stage 
That  rolled  through  the  street  in  our  heroic  age 
With  a  flash  and  a  dash  and  a  rollicking  ring 
As  it  comes  and  it  goes  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 

It  bustles  the  town  as  it  rattles  along, 

As  the  man  in  the  box  cuts  the  air  with  his  thong, 

And  the  high  mettled  steeds  raise  their  curveting 

•  necks 
Till  the  driver  is  forced  to  resort  to  the  brakes. 

As  on  with  a  surplus  of  power  unspent, 
Over  hill  and  through  valley  the  diiigence  went 
Careening  and  swinging  and  rolling  away 
From  the  dawn  of  the  morning  till  evening  gray. 

The  driver  's  no  tool,  with  a  bell  by  his  side 
To  ring  the  alarm  when  he's  paid  for  a  ride ; 
The  "beaver  is  tipped"  as  he  vanishes  by 
By  the  rich  and  the  poor  and  the  lowly  and  high. 

When  the  diligence  passes,  why  every  one  looks ; — 
The  children  at  school  take  their  eyes  from  their 

books, 

The  carpenter  leans  on  his  long  wooden  rule, 
The  rod  of  the  smith  takes  a  second  to  cool,— 

While  the  horse  he  is  shoeing  starts  up  with  a  snuff, 
And  the  rickety  bellows  blows  out  a  long  puff 


34  THE  OLD  STAGE   COACH. 

As  the  boy  at  its  lever  looks  up  with  a  stare, 
And  the  fire  he's  blowing  continues  to  glare. 

The  shears  of  the  tinker  go  down  with  a  click, 
While  his  soldering-iron  lays  flat  on  the  brick ; 
And  the  cobbler  peeps  over  the  boot  on  the  tree 
As  he  straps  his  dull  knife  on  his  leather-capped 
knee. 

But  this  motionless  tableau  no  longer  will  last 

^> 

When  the  coach  with  its  rumbling  clatter  is  past. 

Inside  of  this  vehicle  Alfred  is  seated, 

Set  out  for  the  West  with  his  outfit  completed. 

Now  miles  on  miles  of  distance  vanish  past, 
And  changing  views  dissolve  before  the  sight 
Beneath  the  stately  forest's  shadow  cast, 
Or  gleaming  from  the  fields  of  harvest  white. 

Some  pensive  thoughts  arose  in  Alfred's  mind ; 
Nor  is  it  strange  that  such  should  be  the  case 
When  youth's  warm  heart  is  most  to  love  inclined, — 
And  aims  of  glory  take  a  second  place. 

Thus  far  his  early  life  had  smoothly  run  ; 
No  cause  for  grief  or  fear  had  crossed  his  way ; 
With  such  propitious  days  the  world  begun, 
Why  should  his  practiced  feet  be  turned  astray  ? 

But  yet  in  thoughtful  turns  above  his  years, 
The  future  opened  wide  before  his  eyes  ; 
And  many  a  mountain  in  his  path  appears, 
And  many  a  blank — ere  he  might  win  the  prize. 

While  thus  absorbed  in  silent  reverie, 
His  fellow  travelers  take  a  social  turn- 
On  "  faith,"  and  "  works,"  and  sacred  prophecy, 
And  all  the  doctrinal  points  that  Christians  learn. 


THE  OLD  STAGE  COACH.  35 

With  nice  distinctions  on  "  free  agency," 
"  The  eternal  perseverance  of  the  saints," — 
How,  reconciled  with  God's  foreknown  decree, 
Our  sins  to  "  mortify  "  with  just  restraints. 

These  themes  discussed,  the  conversation  turned 
On  subjects  less  important ; — such  as  bore 
Direct  relation  to  what  now  concerned 
Our  "  temporal  good  "  this  side  of  Canaan's  shore. 

But  yet  the  conversation  ever  ran 

In  grooves  not  inconsistent  with  their  creed ; 

Tenacious  always  ere  their  tongues  began, 

To  scan  the  end  to  which  their  words  might  lead. 

More  taciturn  than  any  of  the  rest, 

With  classic  face  cast  in  a  deftly  mould, 

Sat  a  young  man  who  seemed  to  be  possessed 

Of  deeper  thoughts  than  could  in  words  be  told. 

Yet  penetrate  the  heart  that's  sensitive 
To  magic  inklings  of  benevolence, 
Through  inspirations  that  can  only  live 
In  silent  forces  through  a  quickened  sense. 

That  he  and  Alfred  should  be  ready  friends, 
Was  but  as  easy  as  the  ferny  coil, 
Warmed  by  the  heat  that  coming  summer  sends, 
Pierces  the  leaf-mould  of  the  matted  soil. 

Both  for  the  West  had  started  on  their  way ; 
Behind  them  each  had  left  a  happy  home, 
To  seek  a  fortune  in  their  youthful  day 
In  some  propitious  spot  where  they  might  roam. 

But  fortune  held  a  more  enduring  tie 

To  bind  their  friendship  in  a  strong  embrace  ; 

Hid  in  the  ruling  star  of  destiny 

That  turns  the  fate  of  all  the  human  race — 


36  THE   OLD  INN. 

A  destiny  that  runs  in  subtle  tides 
To  flush  the  heart  as  with  a  magic  touch, 
And  still  the  future  from  its  subjects  hides 
Lest  from  its  mystic  page  they  leafn  too  much  : - 

For  life  would  more  than  half  its  pleasures  lose, 
If  certainty  should  always  gauge  the  flow 
Of  all  its  gifts,  the  best  to  pick  and  choose, 
With  nothing  left  for  fortune  to  bestow. 

And  the  bright  stars  of  hope  and  imagery, 
The  sweetest  consolations  of  the  soul, 
Would  never  rise  in  life's  unvaried  sky, 
Or  through  its  shining  constellations  roll. 

Within  a  spacious  forest  glade 

A  fertile  farm  in  quiet  laid, 

Where  pastures,  meads  and  waving  corn, 

The  landscape  of  the  heath  adorn. 

Inside  its  cottage  lived  a  pair 
Who  daily  bent  the  knee  in  prayer, 
Like  loyal  scions  from  a  stock 
Descended  from  the  Plymouth  Rock. 

A  playful  flock  of  boys  and  girls,         • 
With  cherry  cheeks  and  silken  curls, 
Were  proofs  of  a  prolific  race 
That  lived  and  grew  about  the  place. 

From  yonder  hill  the  penstock  brings 
A  flowing  stream  from  living  spring's, 
Gathered  within  a  sheltered  quay 
Where  speckled  trout  in  frolic  play. 

This  is  the  inn  of  early  days, 
Sung  by  the  poet's  rural  lays. 
It  had  an  emblematic  sign 
Depended  from  a  stately  pine. 


THE   OLD   INN.  37 

One  which  the  woodman's  ax  had  spared, 
And  to  the  winds  its  bosom  bared, 
When,  'neath  his  strokes  the  forest  fell, 
Where  now  the  happy  couple  dwell. 

The  signboard  hummed  a  creaking  tune, 
Discordant  with  the  voice  of  June- 
More  like  December's  angry  rage, 
When  howling  winds  the  skies  engage. 

But  yet  its  whining  notes  invest 
The  traveler's  mind  with  thoughts  of  rest, 
When  vanishes  the  light  of  day 
Dissolving  in  the  twilight  gray. 

And  even  his  sagacious  steed 
Bears  on  the  bit  with  rising  speed, 
And  presses  towards  the  country  inn, 
Where  welcome  rest  is  found  within. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  appear 
The  daily  coach  untackles  here. 
The  trunks  are  taken  from  the  boot, 
The  passengers  their  host  salute. 

The  prudent  hostess  shows  her  face, 
The  guests  to  welcome  to  the  place, 
And  shed  around  a  homelike  air 
To  all  who  are  assembled  there. 

With  careful  hands  the  cloth  is  spread, 
When  seated  all,  the  grace  is  said, 
Essential  as  a  pious  rite — 
A  measure  of  a  heart  contrite. 

Go  where  you  will,  go  far  or  near, 

You  '11  find  a  ready  rival  here 

In  epicurean  skill  and  art, 

Where  morbid  taste  can  play  no  part. 


38  WILLIAM,    JR. 

But  if  the  measured  rate  of  skill 

Is  graded  by  eccentric  will 

And  not  by  nature's  appetite, 

Then  who  can  tell  the  wrong  from  right  ? 

The  Ides  of  August  now  drew  nigh, 
And  eventide  had  veiled  the  sky, 
And  closed  the  petals  of  the  flowers 
From  sunny  rays  in  earlier  hours. 

And  all  the  feathered  tribe  were  still, 
Except  the  lonesome  whip-poor-will; 
There  is  a  pathos  in  his  song 
Repeated  through  the  night,  night  long, 

As  if  the  sympathetic  bird 
Its  silent  shadows  had  preferred  ; — 
As  troubadours  attune  their  lyres, 
When  sober  age  to  rest  retires. 

Now  Alfred,  with  his  new  made  friend, 
Went  forth  the  evening  hour  to  spend. 
Why  should  not  each  to  each  reveal 
The  secrets  which  they  inward  feel  ?— 

The  secrets  which  the  eye  could  trace 
Reflected  from  each  youthful  face  ? 
First  William,  Alfred's  friend,  begun, 
And  thus  his  simple  story  run  : — 

"  My  home  was  in  a  quiet  little  nook 
Inclining  gently  toward  the  eastern  sky, 
And  my  first  childish  memories  wander  back 
To  golden  figures  on  my  bedroom  wall ; 
Where,  from  the  distant  forest's  jagged  tops, 
The  sun  arose  and  through  the  lattice  shone. 
I  was  the  oldest  of  the  little  brood 
That  hung  around  our  happy  mother's  knee, 
Or  cheered  our  father  with  our  boisterous  play. 


WILLIAM,    JR.  39 

He  was  an  artist;  much  to  thought  inclined, 
When  cloistered  at  the  easel  in  his  room, 
And  there  the  children  never  ventured  in, 
Except  sometimes  to  sit  in  careless  groups 
As  figures  for  a  landscape  or  a  scene. 
The  cottage  walls  with  pictures  rare  were  spread 
Of  quaint  designs  and  legendary  rites. 

One  had  a  fly  reposing  on  the  scale 

Of  Justice,  blindfold  on  the  canvas  shown. 

And  when  we  tried  to  scare  the  fly  away, 

Then  "ma"  would  say:  "Why,child,that's  not  a  fly — 

It's  just  a  bit  of  ivory  black 

That  father  (William)  put  upon  the  scene,"- 

Then  father  smiled,  and  told  us  quizzing  boys 
That  we  might,  sometime,  learn  to  paint  a  fly  ; — 
Or  learn  some  other  art  to  win  a  prize. 

Then  there  was  grandpa's  good  old  happy  face, 
That  father  painted  long  and  long  ago. 
And  how  we  wondered  that  his  lustrous  eyes 
Should  seem  to  follow  us  where'er  we  went, 
As  if  the  picture  was  a  living  face. 

This  childish  dalliance  was -a  fleeting  tide; — 
Soon  manhood's  strength  began  to  arm  my  frame, 
And  life's  grand  drama  opened  deep  and  wide 
When  boyhood's  years  had  past  and  manhood  came. 

Now,  on  its  open  sea  my  bark  is  steered  ; 
Before  me  is  an  ocean's  broad  domain  : 
The  headlands  on  the  stream  of  youth  are  cleared 
And  never  can  be  seen  by  me  again. 

Ah  !  childhood's  sunny  hours,  adieu,  adieu  ! 
You'll  only  come  again  in  happy  dreams 
Again  to  fire  my  heart  with  life  anew 
As  transient  vision  back  to  childhood  gleams. 


40  WILLIAM,    JR. 

The  tenderest  links  that  youth  to  childhood  bind, 
Cling  round  the  heart  when  love  inspires  the  mind  ; 
Bound  by  these  silken  toils  I  stand  confessed, 
Securely  sheltered  in  my  youthful  breast. 

Far,  far  away,  my  footsteps  now  shall  roam 
To  seek  some  favored  spbt  to  be  my  home. 
Ambition  points  toward  the  western  wilds, 
Where  generous  nature  with  her  bounty  smiles, 

Here  shall  New  England's  sons  and  daughters  live 

And  to  the  rising  state  their  virtues  give, 

And  ever  cherish  with  paternal  care 

The  church  and  school-house  planted  safely  there. 

I'll  lead  the  way  in  this  propitious  scheme 
To  bring  into  the  West  the  new  regime ; 
'Twill  bring  a  romance  to  our  wedded  life 
When  my  affianced  shall  become  my  wife. 

Alfred  responded  to  the  confiding  youth — 
Who  lived  to  love,  and  loved  to  live  the  truth 
That  from  his  face  ingenuously  shone, 
Though  unexpressed,  by  silent  language  known. 

The  two  were  more  than  common  brothers  now  ; 
Their  friendship  needed  not  a  binding  vow : 
By  sympathy  it  was  forever  sealed, 
As  each  to  each  their  inner  thoughts  revealed. 

Thus  reinforced  the  travelers  went  to  rest, 
To  dream  of  golden  visions  in  the  West. 
Perhaps  they  lived  again  the  sweet  good  bye 
That  comes  in  dreams  as  parting  hours  fly, 

And  silent  consolation  always  brings 
To  cheer  the  heart  when  love  from  honor  springs, 
Consistent  with  the  sense  of  prudent  thought 
That  education  to  the  mind  has  brought. 


THE  MORNING  START.  41 

The  morning  comes,  and  jocund  with  its  dawn, 
The  men  and  boys  are  on  the  dewy  lawn, 
Each  at  his  post,  to  feed  the  noisy  swine, 
Or  from  the  sheds  to  turn  the  lowing  kine. 

The  breakfast  o'er,  the  nervy  steeds  they  gear, 
The  host  and  hostess  at  the  door  appear  ; 
The  travelers  once  more  their  seats  regain, 
The  driver  mounts  the  box  and  takes  the  rein. 

Once  more  their  journeys  with  the  day  begun 
With  dancing  shadows  in  the  morning  sun. 


CANTO  IV. 


Eighteen  miles  from  Erie,  in  Pennsylvania,  close  by  the  town  of 
Waterford,  is  a  small  lake,  which  forms  the  head  of  French  creek.  This 
stream  empties  into  the  Allegheny  river  at  the  site  of  an  old  Indian  town 
named  Venango,  about  seventy-five  miles  above  Pittsburg,  at  which 
place  the  Allegheny  uniting  with  the  Monongahela  river  forms  the  Ohio. 
Along  these  waters  grew  into  being  the  exciting  causes  of  the  French 
and  Indian  war  in  1755.  First,  the  French  built  Fort  Presque  Isle,  where 
Erie  now  stands.  Next  they  built  Fort  Le  Bceuff,  near  the  little  lake  at 
Waterford.  Next,  Fort  Venango  at  the  mouth  of  French  creek.  At 
this  juncture  George  Washington,  then  a  youth  of  twenty-one  years, 
under  orders  from  the  governor  of  Virginia,  suddenly  appeared  at  Fort 
Le  Bceuff  on  a  mission  to  inform  the  French  that  the  English  claimed  the 
country  and  in  the  name  of  the  commonwealth  of  Virginia;  he  warned 
them  out  of  it.  The  young  ambassador  was  treated  with  tokens  of 
respect,  but  was  informed  by  the  scholarly  old  French  knight  who  held 
command  that  the  matter  must  be  referred  to  the  Marquis  Du  Quesne, 
governor  of  Canada,  by  whose  orders  he  held  the  country.  Washington 
with  his  companions  now  returned  to  Virginia  through  the  forests.  This 
was  late  in  the  autumn  of  1754.  The  next  spring  the  Virginians  com- 
menced building  a  fort  where  Pittsburg  now  stands,  but  were  immediately 
driven  away  by  a  superior  force  of  French  and  Indians.  The  French 
and  Indian  war  soon  followed.  Its  successful  termination  gave  the  entire 
country  to  the  English.  Sixteen  years  after  its  close  the  Americans 
declared  themselves  independent.  Seven  years  of  war  followed,  when 
they  achieved  their  end,  and  a  new  flag  arose  into  existence.  Afterward, 
about  from  1794  to  1820,  the  little  lake  near  Waterford  again  became 
conspicuous ;  not  for  the  trumpet  summons  to  the  battle-field,  but  for  the 
starting  point  for  immigrants  to  the  West.  Here  and  at  other  places 
were  built  flatboats,  called  arks,  in  which  several  families  took  passage 
together,  floating  down  stream  to  some  propitious  place  for  a  settlement 
along  the  Ohio  river,  and  at  its  tributary  waters.  The  scene  of  this 
canto  begins  here,  and  is  continued  down  the  stream  to  the  Muskingum 
river,  at  the  mouth  of  which  a  settlement  was  made  in  1788,  which  was 
the  first  American  settlement  northwest  of  the  Ohio  river.  Fort  Harmer 
was  built  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  to  protect  it  from  the  Indians. 

Lo  !  hoary  monarch  of  the  forest  shades, 
What  is  the  history  of  your  old  decades 
Since  you  wert  but  a  tender  seedling  stalk  ? 
Wert  thou  the  firstling  of  the  forest  flock  ? 
An  acorn  planted  in  the  treeless  ground 
Where  now  the  fertile  plains  with  trees  abound. 

42 


THE  NEW  FLAG.  43 

What  have  you  shadowed  since  your  life  began, 
As  through  the  centuries  of  time  it  ran  ? 
What  saw  you  when  the  Aztec  temples  grew 
Where  warmer  skies  distil  the  Heavenly  dew? 
Did  then  the  swarthy  warrior  take  his  rest 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  your  towering  crest  ? 

Have  Frenchmen  ever  tented  by  your  side 
When  to  the  Indian  race  they  were  allied, 
And  on  the  war-path  they  together  teamed 
With  battle  blades  that  through  the  forest  gleamed  ? 

Did  here  the  bright  naivete  of  dusky  hue 
Ere  seal  her  nuptial  vow  to  virtue  true, 
And  to  her  lover  give  her  hand  and  heart 
Impressive  with  the  forms  of  savage  art  ? 
Did  here  the  French  lieutenant  woo  a  bride, 
To  share  her  fortunes  in  the  forest  wide  ? 

Did  Washington  ere  camp  beneath  your  shade 
When  to  these  wilds  the  mission  he  conveyed 
To  warn  away  the  French  from  this  fair  land 
To  give  the  English  sea-room  to  expand  ? 

How  have  these  hopes  that  high  ambition  fed 
Into  oblivion's  gulf  forever  fled? 
The  cross  of  red,*  and  lilies,f  both  have  flown 
And  left  the  pathless  wilderness  alone. 

Another  flag  now  rises  into  life 
Above  the  crimsoned  fields  of  blood  and  strife 
Whose  shining  stars  through  fen  and  forest  gleam — 
A  nation's  herald  of  her  new  regime. 

Its  pioneers  now  come  with  ax  and  spade, 
The  mysteries  of  the  forest  to  invade  ;— 

*  The  English  flag.     It  bore  a  red  cross  as  the  ensign  of  St.  George, 
t  The  French  flag. 


44  THE  PIONEERS. 

Alfred  and  William*  join  the  leading  van 
That  gather  here  to  execute  their  plan. 

An  ark  is  built,  and  down  the  stream  they  glide, 
Borne  on  the  bosom  of  the  flowirig  tide; 
From  wild  to  wild  their  circling  way  is  led 
Through  endless  realms  with  virgin  forest  spread, 
Majestic  in  her  wildness  all  alone, 
Sacred  to  nature's  seal,  unloosed,  unknown. 

Onward,  and  onward  still,  from  plain  to  plain 
In  tortuous  curves  across  the  wooded  main, 
Through  which  Venango'sf  circling  waters  thread 
Their  way  along  wild  nature's  clayey  bed  : — 

Now  Allegheny's  waters  are  in  sight, 

That  flow  majestic  through  the  shadowy  light 

Of  unremitting  forests  far  and  wide, 

Through  which  unnumbered  rivers  roll  their  tide 

From  mountain,  bluff,  and  valley  clad  with  trees 

Unscarred  by  woodman's  ax — in  nature's  ease. 

Fort  PittJ  is  past,  and  now  the  Ohio  bears 
The  vessel  freighted  with  its  household  wares 

o 

Along  its  rugged  headlands  bold  and  wild, 
With  bluff  on  bluff  precipitously  piled. 

Each  night  the  ark  is  moored  the  shore  beside, 
Where  naught  is  heard  except  the  gurgling  tide, 

*  The  name  of  Alfred's  new  companion. 

f  What  is  now  French  creek  was  named  Venango  creek  in  the  early 
day.  It  empties  into  the  Allegheny  river  at  the  old  Indian  town  of 
Venango. 

J  The  old  fort  built  where  Pittsburg  now  stands.  It  was  first  named 
Fort  Du  Quesne,  but  was  changed  to  Fort  Pitt  after  the  English  took 
possession  of  it  in  1758,  under  Gen.  Forbes,  while  the  French  and  Indian 
war  was  at  its  height.  The  French  blew  up  the  old  fort  and  fled  down  the 
Ohio  to  their  settlement  in  southern  Illinois.  George  Washington  then 
held  a  command  under  Gen.  Forbes,  and  led  the  advance  in  his  army, 
which  cut  its  way  from  Carlisle  through  the  forests  of  western  Penn- 
sylvania to  take  this  old  French  seat  of  power,  near  which  Braddock  had 
been  so  terribly  defeated  three  years  before. 


THE  HAUNTED   HOUSE.  45 

Or  the  wild  owl,  whose  shrill  and  quavering  cry 
The  midnight  silence  breaks  so  pensively 
Amidst  the  voiceless  solitudes  around, 
Where  only  nature's  amplitudes  abound. 

Muskingum's  welcome  headlands  now  are  seen, 
Where  fields  of  corn  and  forest  intervene. 
Fort  Harmer's  walls  here  in  the  forests  rise, 
Beneath  the  flag  that  freemen  dearly  prize. 
Waving  a  welcome  in  the  wilderness 
Whose  virgin  soil  their  wandering  footsteps  press. 
Here  is  the  distant  home,  —  the  promised  land, — 
With  room  enough  for  genius  to  expand. 

Here  rests  the  ark.     Its  mission  now  is  done  : — 
Alfred's  and  William's  is  but  just  begun  :— 
Their  cable  's  cut,  their  bark  's  before  the  wind, 
With  home  and  friends  and  sweethearts  left  behind. 

But  fortune  has  a  path  for  them  to  tread, 

Though  strewn  with  flowers  through  varied  mazes 

led; 

Their  lucky  star  reflects  from  friendly  suns 
Light  for  their  path,  and  thus  the  story  runs  : — 

A  dino-y  cottage  on  the  rack 

o  J  *> 

Stood  by  the  tranquil  Merrimac, 
Where  witches  were  supposed  to  live 
To  fright  the  weak  and  sensitive. 
Not  very  near  the  road  it  stood 
Amidst  a  lonesome  neighborhood  ; 
And  bold  the  one  who  passed  that  way 
Except  within  the  light  of  day  ; 
For  through  the  silent  shades  of  night, 
Witches  and  goblins  draped  in  white 
Descending  through  the  mirky  air 
In  voiceless  silence  reveled  there. 


46  THE  RESCUE. 

A  fearless  man  one  night  passed  by, 
When  in  the  house  he  heard  a  cry 
As  if  a  nurseling  had  been  there 
Without  a  mother's  watchful  care. 
In  spite  of  ghosts  and  goblins,  too, 
Into  the  house  he  quickly  flew. 
Some  flashes  met  his  steady  gaze, 
Like  burning  coals  without  a  blaze, 
Scattered  about  the  ghostly  place 
O'er  ceiling,  wall  and  mouldering  brace. 
The  hero  laughed  at  such  a  show 
Lit  up  by  phosphorescent  glow ; 
But  next  a  little  babe  he  saw 
Reposing  on  a  bed  of  straw. 
He  pressed  the  foundling  to  his  breast, 
And  hushed  its  lonely  cries  to  rest ; 
Then,  from  that  day,  the  little  one 
Became  his  own  adopted  son. 

A  hemlock  thicket  stood  close  by, 
From  which  the  mother's  watchful  eye, 
While  trembling  with  anxious  fears  ; 
Beheld  the  rescue  through  her  tears, 
And  flattering  hope  brings  some  relief 
To  soothe  a  mother's  parting  grief. 

William,  the  senior,  was  the  one 
Who  rescued  thus  the  infant  son, 
And  William  junior  was  the  child 
In  blissful  ignorance  beguiled. 
And  often  afterward  with  joy, 
The  mother  saw  her  darling  boy ; 
And  watched  the  progress  of  his  years 
With  secret  joy  and  mother  tears  ; 
But  in  her  pondering  heart's  control 
Deep  rests  the  secret  of  her  soul, 
As  she  beholds  her  darling  boy  ; 


THE   NURSLING.  47 

While  cruel  chains  confine  her  joy, 
And  fetter  with  a  mask  of  steel 
The  love  which  only  mothers  feel, 
Pent  up  within  a  prudent  breast 
To  riot  there  in  wild  unrest. 

Yet  consolation  slowly  heals 
The  wounds  which  injured  virtue  feels 
When  only  love  its  breast  hath  known 
Through  blind  devotion's  vestal  throne, 
And  now  a  calm  and  sweet  refrain 
Rests  o'er  her  troubled  soul  again. 
But  youth  and  beauty  safe  may  rest 
To  wait  for  fortune's  timely  test ; 
And  romance  is  to  break  the  seal 
Her  destined  story  to  reveal. 

Two  rivers  met  upon  the  heather  low, 
Whose  lazy  waters  move  along  so  slow 
Toward  the  lake,  that,  like  its  arm  they  seemed ; 
As    from    their    unrippled    face    the    moon-beams 
gleamed. 

This  was  Chicago,  in  tradition  old, 
Of  which  the  red  man's  tales  were  early  told, 
When  came  the  white  man  here  his  race  among 
Beset  with  subtle  wiles  his  flattering  tongue. 

And  yet,  the  missionary  in  his  zeal 

To  raise  the  cross  and  stamp  the  Christian  seal 

Indelible  upon  the  virgin  land, 

In  hopeful  faith  and  love  his  advent  planned. 

The  blood  of  Christ  for  all  mankind  was  shed ; 
Even  these  savages  though  naively  bred, 
The  holy  cross  and  the  communion  cup 
Atone  for  sin  if  faith  can  drink  it  up. 


48  AMALGAMATION. 

Withal,  the  way  is  plain  and  all  can  see 
How  Jesus  Christ  has  died  for  you  and  me, 
All  but  the  red  man,  he  felt  little  need 
For  Christ's  atoning  grace  —  for  Israel's  seed. 

He  naively  said  :  "  This  sacrifice  for  you 
Was  made,  whose  wicked  hands  your  Savior  slew; 
No  blame  can  rest  on  us  for  this  misdeed, 
You'll  rue  the  day  you  made  your  Savior  bleed. 
Give  us  your  glittering  trinkets,  guns  and  knives, 
If  honor  crowns  your  brow,  we'll  give  you  wives." 

The  wanton  French  accepted  the  demand ; 
They  gave  the  offerings  and  took  the  hand 
Of  many  a  bright  naivete  alone  arrayed 
By  nature's  gifts,  with  modesty  displayed. 

Here  was  an  episode  exemplary, 

Of  love  and  passion  hid  in  mystery 

Which  cannot  be  explained  e'en  by  the  Muse, 

Who  tells  the  truth  but  don't  disclose  her  views ; 

Just  gives  material  for  a  theory 

On  which  all  candid  minds  will  soon  agree. 

Next  came  a  hybrid  flock  of  swarthy  sprights, 
Incarnate  in  their  love  of  savage  rites, 
No  compromise  in  their  unbending  will ; 
Nature  their  God  their  destiny  to  fill. 

Three  generations  now  harmonious  flew 
While  French  and  Indians  thus  together  grew  ; 
Without  a  word  of  jealousy  or  strife 
They  mingled  freely  in  the  cares  of  life  — 
If  wantonness  and  freedom  everywhere 
Could  be  supposed  to  have  a  thoughtful  care. 

But  all  the  while  the  sturdy  English  stock, 
The  same  that  landed  safe  on  Plymouth  Rock, 


THE   INDIAN  LASSIE.  49 

Were  delving  on  the  bleak  Atlantic  coast  ;  — 
Their  banner,  Christ;  —  while   freedom  was  their 
boast. 

Anon  the  heights  of  Abraham  they  scale, 
And  there  the  keystone  of  the  French  assail  ; 
Fate  hung  upon  the  issue  of  the  hour, 
While  trembled  in  the  scale  the  coming  power 
That  destiny  had  marked  to  rule  and  reign, 
In  triumph  over  rode  the  bloody  plain. 

Chicago  now  fell  into  English  hands, 
While  yet  'twas  but  a  heath  of  drifting  sands, 
But  yet  the  Indian  brave,  and  lassie,  too, 
Traversed  the  portage  in  their  bark  canoe, 
And  often  here  their  council  fires  blazed, 
And  here,  defiant  still,  the  war-whoop  raised. 

One  day  there  came  across  the  portage  green 
An  Indian  lassie,  daughter  of  a  queen  ;  — 
That  is,  her  father  was  a  chief,  her  ma  a  squaw,  — 
bred  in  all  the  gifts  of  nature's  law. 

o 


And  here,  before  we  farther  trace  the  tale, 

We  may  as  well  just  look  behind  the  veil 

To  see  the  gushing  side  of  every  heart  — 

Where  love  devout  and  passion  play  their  part 

Unshackled  by  conventional  decrees 

That  oft  offend  when  they're  designed  to  please, 

"  The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth  ;  " 
It  will  not  follow  in  a  ready  groove, 
The  reckless  hero  of  eccentric  turns 
Will    give  his  heart    and   hand   where   prudence 
spurns. 

This  is  a  trait  of  Young  America 
When  he,  defiant,  holds  himself  at  bay 

4 


50  THE    TOUNG   HERO. 

Against  the  training  of  his  early  years 

Though  stamped  upon  his  mind  by  sighs  and  tears. 

No  tale  of  romance  can  with  luster  shine 

Without  its  hero  and  its  heroine. 

Our  heroine,  as  stated  just  before, 

Is  coming  to  Chicago's  emerald  shore  ; 

Her  waving  hair,  like  streamers  in  the  breeze 

Flutters  in  negligence  the  eye  to  please ; 

Or,  better  still,  to  please  the  manly  heart 

That's  sensitive  to  this  enticing  art ; 

Her  step  elastic  and  her  form  erect, 

Music  her  voice  in  Indian  dialect, 

Which  falls  harmonious  from  her  youthful  tongue, 

While  downcast  flashes  from  her  eyes  are  flung 

After  the  custom  of  the  devotee 

To  youthful  fire  enshrined  in  mystery 

Too  deep  to  measure  well  in  prudish  scales, 

Not  set  to  balance  love's  romantic  tales. 

In  savage  life,  or  highly  civilized, 
It  little  boots  when  love  is  improvised ; 
One  fountain  gently  feeds  the  inward  fire 
In  lower  walks  of  life  as  well  as  hio-her. 

o 

In  this  decree  our  Indian  heroine, 

o 

So  highly  bred  in  savage  life  to  shine, 

And  modest  in  the  charm  of  beauty's  power, 

In  playful  dalliance  spends  each  youthful  hour: 

Accomplished  thus  while  in  parental  care 

To  see  the  world  and  breathe  the  lake's  pure  air. 

Her  lot  is  cast  upon  Chicago's  shore  — 

A  rendezvous  for  trinkets  kept  in  store 

For  Indian  trade  and  traffic  far  and  near, 

Where  furs  were  cheap,  and  Indian  blankets  dear. 

'Twas  here  she  met  her  hero  young  and  bold, 
A  thoroughbred,  fresh  from  New  England's  fold, 


THE  BLUE-ETED   GIRL.  51 

Reared  in  the  matchless  training  of  the  land 
That  Fanueil  Hall  had  built  and  freedom  planned. 

His  kindred  might  be  numbered  by  the  score ; 
And  every  one  a  reputation  bore, 
Respectable,  from  vice  and  malice  free, 
In  faith  as  orthodox  as  man  could  be 
While  sinful  nature  stares  him  in  the  face, 
And  ever  puts  to  task  his  Christian  grace. 

That  is,  according  to  the  theory 

And  current  standard  of  theology 

That  then  prevailed  with  no  dissenting  voice  — 

Which  laith  accepted  with  no  other  choice. 

While  yet  a  child  he  had  a  dreamy  mind  ; 

Above  his  years  in  sentiment  refined,     

Not  only  by  the  teachings  of  his  youth, 
But  by  a  power  within  that  stamped  the  truth 
Upon  his  tongue  —  the  index  of  a  heart 
Where  only  honor  dwells  and  plays  its  part. 

He  was  precocious.     His  inquiring  mind 
Was  full  of  romance  and  inclined 
To  school-boy  love,  an  old  familiar  name 
For  the  first  inklings  of  Cupid's  flame, 
Sometimes  abiding,  often  indiscreet, 
If  not  successful  ever  after  sweet, 
When  tender  solaces  mature  with  age, 
In  retrospective  reveries  engage. 

The  fond  ideal  of  his  youthful  flame 

Had  every  grace  exacting  love  could  claim. 

Her  form  was  lithe,  her  eyes  were  soft  and  blue, 

And  gently  fell  before  a  lover's  view 

With  all  the  modesty  that  could  adorn 

A  model  school  girl  in  her  youthful  morn. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  HUN06 


52  THE   PARTING. 

Our  hero  loved  the  child  with  tenderness 
And  something  more,  that's  held  in  youth's  duress, 
As  manly  strength  begins  to  charge  the  veins 
Ere  more  mature  thoughts  can  take  the  reins. 

To  wed  was  distant  in  his  thoughtful  plan  ; 
To  look  ahead  life  seemed  a  lengthened  span. 
His  little  sweetheart  still  was  very  young, 
And  lover's  vows  might  falter  on  her  tongue. 
"Till  she's  of  age,  I'll  travel  far  from  home, 
And  in  the  Western  wilderness  will  roam 
Till  riper  years  shall  crown  her  youthful  life, 
And  she  shall  know  the  duties  of  a  wife." 

'Twas  thus  the  youth  resolved  in  thought  and  care, 
And  set  about  his  outfit  to  prepare. 
The  day  arrived  appointed  for  his  start, 
When  he  from  all  his  early  friends  must  part; 
From  father,  brother,  sister,  mother  dear, 
And  others  met  to  give  a  parting  cheer. 

And  with  the  group  his  little  sweetheart  came, 
Armed  with  a  wreath  of  rosebuds,  and  her  name 
Wrought  with  her  cunning  fingers  in  the  wreath, 
With  mottoes  suitable  concealed  beneath. 
He  smiled,  and  took  the  wreath  with  words  sup- 
pressed, 
And  pinned  the  emblem  to  his  throbbing  breast. 

She  was  the  last  to  give  the  parting  kiss. 
The  charm  that  parting  sorrow  turns  to  bliss 
When  in  the  twilight  hour  of  summer's  day 
Love's   thoughts  will   wander  where  their  objects 

stray. 
The   stage    coach    clattered    from    the    homestead 

door, 
Away  it  went,  away  our  hero  bore. 


SHfP  WRECKED.  5  3 

When  a  few  weeks  had  slowly  passed  away 
In'  journeying  through  the  wilds  from  day  to  day, 
A  sail  was  seen  upon  the  open  sea, 
Far  in  the  distance  off  Chicago's  lea. 
Nearer  it  comes,  before  the  northern  breeze 
That  wrestles  fiercely  with  the  foaming  seas. 
The  wind  increases  ;   and  tempestuous  roar 
The  frothy  waves  that  lash  Chicago's  shore. 
The  ship  her  anchors  cast  with  trembling  hope, 
While  groans  the  hull  and  creaks  each  straining 

rope. 

The  anchor  drags  as  rolling  wave  on  wave 
The  trembling  shore  in  maddened  fury  lave, 
And  soon  the  ship  is  dashed  against  the  beach  ; 
The  headlands  low  almost  within  the  reach 
Of  her  bold  crew,  who  to  the  wreck  still  cling, 
While  on  the  shore  relief  is  gathering. 

There  were  no  life-boats  then  ;  but  in  their  place 
Stood  a  bold  chieftain  of  the  Indian  race. 
Close  by  the  shore  there  stood  a  linden  tree, 
Whose  riven  bark  is  tough  and  sinewy : 
A  lengthened  line  from  this  they  improvise, 
And  round  his  waist  one  end  the  chieftain  ties ; 
The  other  end  is  fastened  to  the  shore ; 
And,  thus  secured,  the  chief  each  victim  bore 
Safe  from  the  wreck,  despite  the  mad  sea  foam, 
And  sheltered  them  within  his  tented  home. 

Wabunsie*  was  the  name  of  this  bold  chief 
Whose  timely  courage  had  secured  relief 

*  A  noted  war  chief  of  the  Pottawatomie  tribe,  who  then  held  the 
entire  country  along  the  St.  Joseph  river,  as  well  as  the  lands  around 
the  southern  extremity  of  Lake  Michigan,  including  the  Chicago  port- 
age. Intimate  relations  existed  between  them  and  the  Miamies,  directly 
east  of  them,  and  many  of  their  warriors  were  in  the  ranks  of  Little 
Turtle's  army  when  that  distinguished  chief  defeated  St.  Clair  in  1791. 
Indian  Robinson,  who  died  at  his  reservation  on  the  Desplaines,  just 
west  of  Chicago,  April  19,  1872,  at  the  advanced  age  of  one  hundred  and 


54  COURTSHIP. 

To  these  adventurers  in  the  far-off  West, 
With  pioneering  spirit  thus  possessed. 

His  daughter's  name  was  Gheezhigneenwateen,* 

The  same  who'd  crossed  Chicago's  portage  green — 

The  Indian  lassie  spoken  of  before, 

Who,  with  her  father,  visited  this  shore 

To  see  the  world  like  any  other  belle 

In  trading  marts  where  people  buy  and  sell. 

In  this  respect  all  belles  are  much  the  same; 

Of  every  nation  and  of  every  name. 

In  their  young  hearts  the  social  tie  is  strong, 

While  rolls  the  tide  of  joyous  youth  along. 

Now  let  us  to  our  hero  turn  again  ; 

So  lately  rescued  from  the  watery  main 

With  naught  but  life  and  strength  : — for  purse  and 

scrip 
Had  perished  in  the  tempest  with  the  ship. 

Though  but  a  tenant  of  the  wigwam  now, 
The  marks  of  honor  stamped  his  manly  brow. 
Wabunsie  saw  in  him  these  manly  traits, 
While  Gheezhigneenwateen  around  him  waits 
With  eyes  that  languish  now,  and  now  retire, 
Beneath  his  ardent  gaze  of  youthful  fire. 

He  could  not  understand  the  words  she  said, 
But  gratitude  and  love  his  passion  fed ; 

ten  years,  was  well  acquainted  with  Wabunsie,  and  it  is  from  his  report 
of  his  noble  qualities  that  the  writer  has  been  induced  to  select  him  as  a 
fitting  subject  to  represent  the  times  in  which  he  lived.  His  home  was 
on  the  St.  Joseph  river,  near  the  present  line  between  Michigan  and 
Indiana.  He  had  a  nephew  of  the  same  name,  who  was  frequently  at 
Chicago  in  the  early  day,  and  is  still  remembered  by  perhaps  a  dozen 
of  the  present  oldest  settlers  in  iSSi.  The  English  of  his  name  is  Early 
Morning. 

*  The  short  meaning  of  her  name  in  the  general  Algonquin  lan- 
guage was  "  Clear  Sky,"  a  very  beautiful  ideal  in  connection  with  her 
father's  name.  (The  clear  sky  of  early  morning.)  Similar  examples  of 
refined  imagery  multiply  as  one  studies  Indian  names. 


CONTENDING  EMOTIONS.  55 

And  there's  a  language  in  the  very  sphere 
Of  him  or  her  whose  passions  are  sincere. 

Here  was  a  hero  and  a  heroine 

Well  matched  for  love,  by  nature's  own  design, 

When  nothing  else  can  interpose  a  plea, 

A  future  social  standing  to  foresee. 

A  conflict  in  our  hero's  breast  now  raged 
Between  the  passions  that  his  heart  engaged, 
And  all  the  teachings  of  his  childhood  days ; — 
The  natural  tribute  which  affection  pays 
To  mother's  love  and  father's  thoughtful  care, 
When  childish  lips  were  taught  the  nursery  prayer. 

But  more  than  these,  the  little  blue-eyed  girl, 
Whose  silken  locks  he  often  used  to  twirl, 
Aroused  such  memories  in  his  throbbing  breast 
As  only  in  a  love-torn  heart  can  rest. 

Pending  these  conflicts  in  his  care-worn  mind, 
While  gratitude  and  passion  both  combined 
To  make  him  marry  Gheezhigneenwateen, 
Fresh  news  of  war's  alarms  came  to  the  scene. 

Along  the  border  rang  the  hostile  blast, 

And  through  the  forest  glooms  its  shadows  cast ; 

And  deadly  hatred  flashed  from  every  eye, 

"  Death  to  the  long  knives  "  *  was  the  battle  cry. 

And  gathered  there  the  courier  du  bois, 
Canadian  French  of  Indian  blood  alloy, 
And  swarthy  tenants  of  the  wilderness 
Ornate  with  feathers,  paint,  and  savage  dress. 

Our  hero  gazed  upon  the  pantomime 

With  brain  bewildered  at  the  strange  design 

*  The  Miamies  and  Shawanese  during  the  war  of  the  American 
Revolution  called  the  Americans  "the  Long  Knives."  See  Clark's 
Conquest  of  Vincennes. 


56  THE  MARRIAGE. 

That  tempted  him  among  these  wilds  to  roam, 
Away  from  the  amenities  of  home. 

His  childish  days  were  like  that  heavenly  dream 
To  which  our  future  visions  fondly  gleam, 
To  compensate  us  for  our  earthly  grief, 
And  to  our  troubled  spirits  bring  relief. 

These  retrospective  consolations  past, 
Where,  mused  the  hero,  must  thy  lot  be  cast  ? 
When  Gheezhigneenwateen,  in  pensive  mood, 
Before  his  transitory  vision  stood. 

Her  modest  face  was  radiant  with  love 

From  the  deep  springs  that  lift  the  soul  above 

All  kindred-  ties  of  color  or  of  race  ,— 

A  flash  of  passion  and  a  fond  embrace, 

A  plighted  vow  to  only  end  with  life, 

Their  hands  are  joined  and  they  are  man  and  wife.* 

St.  Glair's  invasion  and  his  dire  defeat, 
The  shouts  of  victory  over  his  retreat, 
The  savage  trophies  from  the  battle-field 
Where  tested  English  mettle  had  to  yield 
To  Mishikinakwa'sf  triumphant  host, 
Brought  yells  exultant  to  Chicago's  coast 
In  which  our  hero  joined  with  feeble  yell 
Under  the  protest  of  imprisoned  spell. 

But  honor  high  within  the  savage  breast 
Protects  him  from  too  positive  a  test 
To  mark  his  preference  so  newly  tried 
Between  his  kindred  and  his  Indian  bride. 

Our  hero  loved  her  all  the  more  for  this, 
For  honor  gave  his  cup  a  taste  of  bliss ; 

*The  Indian  marriages   are  made  by  a  promise  of  fidelity  without 
form. 

t  Little  Turtle. 


SPIES.  57 

But  soon  to  stoicism  he  inclined, 

And  won  esteem  for  his  reflective  mind. 

Meantime  a  new  invasion  soon  was  planned, 

And  Gen.  Wayne  was  given  its  command; 

A  band  of  spies  already  in  the  field, 

The  Indians'  movements  oft  to  him  revealed, 

And  oft  our  hero  met  these  subtle  spies 

And  read  their  mission  in  their  speaking  eyes. 

Among  them  was  a  man  whose  name  was  May ; 
Who  saw  our  hero  when  alone  one  day, 
And  mutual  confidence  inspired  the  twain, 
When  May  reported  him  to  General  Wayne. 

Our  hero  next  sought  Little  Turtle's  side, 
And  introduced  to  him  the  Indian  bride  ; 
This  was  his  voucher  for  fidelity 
With  leave  to  pass  his  lines  of  ambush  free. 

And  when  again  the  battle  spreads  its  pall, 
And  thick  and  fast  the  fatal  death  shots  fall, 
The  ambuscade  is  know  to  General  Wayne; 
And  stubborn  Indian  valor  fights  in  vain. 

Our  hero  shares  the  honors  of  the  field  ; 
For  he  to  General  Wayne  their  plans  revealed  ; 
And  now  he  shelters  safely  in  his  lines, 
While  Gheezhigneenwateen  in  sorrow  pines. 

When  thus  relieved,   the   thoughts    of  home   and 

friends 

All  other  memories  of  his  life  transcends ; 
But  lingers  still  some  keen  regrets  between, 
For  his  forsaken  Gheezhigneenwateen. 

But  these  were  transient  as  his  footsteps  prest ; 
The  sacred  shades  that  dipped  the  golden  crest 


58  THE  RETURN. 

Of  sunset  where  his  little  wondering  eyes 
Had  oft  beheld  the  colors  in  the  skies. 

Farther  along,  he  wades  the  pebbled  brook, 
Which  faithful  memory  never  had  forsook ; 
The  evening  sun  was  still  reflecting  there, 
The  softened  tinge  of  crimson  everywhere. 

Entranced  he  gazed  on  the  familiar  spot, 
His  throbbing  heart  with  tender  memories  fraught ; 
Here  was  the  arbor  where  the  blue-eyed  child 
Had  played  with  him  beneath  the  shadowy  wild. 

And  then  he  pondered  on  the  rosebud  wreath 
Her  little  hands  had  woven  while  beneath 
The  evening  shadows  of  those  very  trees, 
And  given  him  his  parting  hour  to  please. 

Downward  he  gazed  upon  the  moss-clad  ground, 
Lost  in  a  reverie,  when  a  lisping  sound 
Broke  the  dumb  silence  of  the  evening  air ; 
'Twas  her  !  'Twas  her  !  the  blue-eyed  girl  was  there. 

The  following  extract  of  a  letter  (dated  "  Fort  Washington,  April 
10,  1792,")  from  Brigadier  General  Wilkinson  to  Captain  John  Arm- 
strong, then  the  commanding  officer  at  Fort  Hamilton,  will  throw  some 
light  upon  the  nature  of  the  perilous  service  of  those  who  were  employed 
as  spies :  "  My  messengers,  Freeman  at  the  head,  left  this  on  the  7th, 
with  a  'big  talk,'  and  are  ordered  to  keep  Harmar's  trace,  which  will  be 
an  evidence  to  the  enemy  that  they  have  no  sinister  designs  in  contem- 
plation. If  they  are  received,  and  are  suffered  to  return,  they  have  my 
directions  to  come  by  Fort  Jefferson.  You  must  order  William  May  to 
desert  in  a  day  or  two,  or  must  cover  his  departure  by  putting  him  in  the 
way  to  be  taken  prisoner,  as  you  may  deem  best.  I  consider  the  first 
preferable  in  one  point  of  view;  that  is,  it  would  guard  him  effectually 
against  any  real  desertion  which  may  hereafter  take  place.  It  will  be 
exceedingly  difficult,  if  not  impracticable,  for  him  ever  to  make  a  second 
trip  with  success.  However,  that  will  depend,  in  a  great  measure,  upon 
the  fertility  of  his  own  genius.  He  should  cross  the  Miami  at  or  near 
your  post,  and  keep  a  due  north  course — remarking  critically,  the  dis- 
tance, ground,  and  water-courses  over  which  he  may  pass,  until  he  strikes 
the  St.  Mary's,  the  sight  of  the  old  Miami  village,  and  the  first  town. 
His  first  business  will  be  to  find  out  what  has  become  of  my  messengers. 
If  they  have  been  received  and  well  treated,  he  may  authenticate  the  sin- 
cerity and  good  faith  which  has  prescribed  their  journey.  For  this  pur- 
pose he  must  be  made  acquainted  with  the  departure  of  the  messengers, 


REUNION.  59 

And  what  a  change  was  wrought  upon  her  brow  ! 
No  more  the  child,  but  ripened  beauty  now 
Transcendent  shone  before  his  ardent  gaze;— 
A  peerless  queen  that  manly  love  obeys. 

Their  love  was  tested.     Little  more  was  said, 
Except  to  set  the  day  when  they  should  wed. 
Henston,  the  spy,  was  the  familiar  name 
By  which  he  had  been  known  to  border  fame. 

Hers  was  Permilla  ;  —  the  sweet  and  mild, 
And  loving  mother  of  the  precious  child 
That  William  rescued  from  the  ghostly  place 
That  sheltered  its  young  mother's  maiden  grace. 

And  now  relieved  from  warring  toil, 
Our  hero  tills  the  western  soil, 
Preempted  from  the  conquered  lands 
Enforced  by  war  from  native  hands. 
Beside  Muskingum's  interval, 
The  happy  pair  in  comfort  dwell, 

and  the  order  restraining  offensive  hostilities.  But  if  they  have  been 
killed,  or  made  prisoners,  and  the  enemy  positively  refuse  to  treat,  then, 
so  soon  as  he  clearly  ascertains  these  facts,  he  must  return  to  us,  by  the 
nearest  and  safest  route.  If  this  occasion  should  not  present,  he  is  to 
continue  with  the  enemy — and  is,  at  all  events,  to  acquire  their  confidence. 
To  this  end,  he  must  shave  his  head — assume  their  dress,  adopt  their 
habits  and  manners — and  always  be  ready  for  the  hunt,  or  for  war.  His 
greatest  object,  during  his  residence  with  the  enemy,  will  be  to  find  out 
the  names  of  the  nations  which  compose  the  confederacy  now  at  war — 
their  numbers,  and  the  situation  of  their  respective  towns,  as  to  course 
and  distance  from  the  old  Miami  village,  and  the  locality  of  each.  He 
will  discover  the  names,  residence,  interests,  and  influence  of  all  the 
white  men  now  connected  with  those  savages;  and  whether  the  British 
stimulate,  aid,  or  abet  them,  and  in  what  manner — whether  openly,  by 
the  servants  of  government,  or  indirectly,  by  traders.  He  will  labor  to 
develop  what  are  the  general  determinations  of  the  savages  in  case  the 
war  is  continued  and  we  gain  possession  of  their  country.  Having  made 
himself  master  of  these  points,  or  as  far  as  may  be  practicable,  he  will 
embrace  the  first  important  occasion  to  come  in  to  us.  Such  will  be  the 
moment  when  the  enemy  collectively  take  the  field  and  advance  against 
our  army,  or  a  detachment  of  it,  and  have  approached  it  within  a  day's 
march.  Should  he  execute  this  mission  with  integrity  and  effect,  I 
pledge  myself  to  restore  him  to  his  country,  and  will  use  my  endeavors 
to  get  him  some  little  establishment,  to  make  his  old  age  comfortable." 


60  HOME. 

Contented  in  that  love  refined 

That  grows  within  a  thoughtful  mind  ; 

Warm  as  the  current  of  the  blood 

That  flushes  with  a  crimson  flood, 

The  downcast  face  with  pleasures  glow, 

When  thoughts  are  quick  and  words  are  slow. 

There  is  a  wealth  of  passion's  fire 
That  glows  like  coals  of  living  fire ; — 
Unlike  the  flash  of  brilliant  light 
That  blazes  to  a  glimmering  sight, 
Then  leaves  the  heart  in  dark  despair, 
The  tenant  of  a  solitaire 

The  following,  from  the  narrative  of  John  Brickell,  published  in  the 
"American  Pioneer,"  vol.  i,  p.  52,  is  quoted  as  good  authority,  as  Mr. 
Brickell  was  living  among  the  Indians  at  the  time,  having  been  captured 
when  a  child  and  adopted  by  them.  After  Wayne's  battle  he  returned 
to  his  people,  and  lived  many  years  in  Columbus,  Ohio,  highly  esteemed 
by  all  who  knew  him. 

"  TJVO  or  three  days  after  we  arrived  at  the  rapids  Wayne's  spies 
came  right  into  camp  among  us.  I  afterward  saw  the  survivors.  Their 
names  were  Miller,  M'Cleuland,  May,  Wells,  and  Mahaffy,  and  one 
other  whose  name  I  forgot.  They  came  into  camp  boldly  and  fired  on 
the  Indians.  Miller  got  wounded  in  the  shoulder;  Mav  was  chased  by 
the  Indians  to  the  smooth  rock  in  the  bed  of  the  river,  where  his  horse 
fell.  He  was  taken  prisoner,  and  the  rest  escaped.  They  then  took 
May  to  camp.  They  knew  him.  He  had  formerly  been  a  prisoner 
among  them,  and  ran  away  from  them.  They  told  him:  'We  kno\v 
you.  You  speak  Indian  language.  You  not  content  to  live  with  us. 
To-morrow  we  take  you  to  that  tree  (pointing  to  a  very  large  burr-oak 
at  the  edge  of  the  clearing  which  was  near  the  British  fort).  We  will 
tie  you  up  and  make  a  mark  on  your  breast,  and  we  will  try  what  Indian 
can  shoot  nearest  it.'  It  so  turned  out.  The  next  dav,  the  very  day 
before  the  battle,  they  tied  him  up,  made  a  mark  on  his  breast,  and  rid- 
dled his  body  with  bullets,  shooting  at  least  fifty  into  him.  Thus  ended 
poor  May.  On-  the  next  day,  being  myself  about  six  miles  below  with 
the  squaws,  I  went  out  hunting.  The  day  being  windy  I  heard  nothing 
of  the  firing  of  the  battle,  but  saw  some  Indians  on  the  retreat.  One 
Indian,  whom  I  knew,  told  me  I  had  better  go  to  camp,  for  the  Indians 
were  beaten  and  they  were  preparing  at  camp  to  make  their  escape.  I 
went  and  found  it  as  he  described.  The  runners  toward  dusk  came  in, 
and  said  the  army  had  halted  and  encamped.  We  then  rested  that  night, 
but  in  great  fear.  Next  morning  the  runners  told  us  the  army  had 
started  up  the  river  toward  the  mouth  of  the  Au-glaise.  We  were  then 
satisfied.  Many  of  the  Delavvares  were  killed  and  wounded.  The  In- 
dian who  took  May  was  killed,  and  he  was  much  missed,  for  he  was  the 
only  gunsmith  among  the  Delawares." 


CONTENTMENT.  61 

This  wealth  our  hero  and  his  bride 
In  every  sense  personified, 
That  love  mature  could  justly  claim, 
Obedient  to  Cupid's  flame. 

As  blessings  brighten  as  they  fly, 

As  distance  will  delight  the  eye, 

As  pleasures  grow  through  hope  deferred, 

As  strains  the  eye  through  visions  blurred, 

Of  what  we  long  to  realize 

In  earthly  blessings  which  we  prize  — 

'Tis  thus  that  disappointments  touch  — 

Or  what  despair  may  deem  as  such  — 

Serve  but  to  heighten  pleasures  still, 

When  sweet  contentment  binds  the  will 

Within  discretion's  practiced  sphere 

That  comes  around  our  pathway  here, 

And  thus  a  good  foundation  lays 

For  future  joys  and  happier  days. 


CANTO  V. 


The  scene  of  this  Canto  is  laid  on  the  banks  of  the  Muskingum 
river,  at  the  home  where  Henston  and  his  wife  have  settled. 


As  the  dim  twilight  of  the  century  past 
Was  vanishing  like  evening  shadows  cast 
Upon  the  heath, 

Our  hero,  Henston,  and  his  happy  wife, 
Sat  musing  on  the  pleasing  cares  of  life 
Their  roof  beneath. 

Some  early  friends  in  neighborship  allied, 
Were  there  to  see  the  olden  century  glide 
Noiseless  away, 

As  slowly  creeps  along  the  midnight  hour, 
Omnipotently  led  behind  the  power 
Of  years'  decay. 

Within  the  thoughtful  group  few  words  were  said, 

As  vivid  retrospective  reveries  fled 

Across  each  mind, 

Of  by-gone  scenes,  like  a  dissolving  view, 

That  live  and  die  again  to  bring  anew 

What  Heaven  designed. 

'Twas  eleven  o'clock  when  Henston  fell  asleep, 

And  early  visions  o'er  his  senses  creep 

In  sensuous  thought; — 

When  in  the  forest  haunts  he  lived  again, 

And  with  his  Indian  bride  roamed  o'er  the  plain 

In  image  fraught. 

62 


HENSTOWS   CHILD.  63 

'Twas  but  a  moment  thus  that  sleep  ensnared 
His  intellect,  that  wakefulness  repaired, 
When  at  the  gate, 

Though  late  the  hour,  a  gentle  footstep  prest. 
The  door  was  opened  to  the  stranger  guest  — 
A  child  of  Fate. 

Permilla  in  her  ready  sympathy 

Received  the  child  upon  her  mother  knee 

With  accents  mild. 

Asked  Henston : "Who's  your  mother,  nege  sheen?"* 

"  My  mother's  name  was  Gheezhigneenwateen," 

Replied  the  child. 

Permilla  looked  the  wanderer  in  the  face, 
And  loved  it  —  though  a  mixture  of  a  race 
Of  nature's  wild. 

And  Henston  pressed  the  wanderer  to  his  breast 
With  all  the  love  a  father's  heart  possessed 
For  his  own  child. 

The  clock  struck  twelve ;  the  olden  century  flew, 

And  silence  reigned  as  ushered  in  the  new ; 

The  moon  arose 

Majestic  in  the  sky,  a  solitaire, 

And  voiceless  language  through  the  midnight  air 

Spoke  the  repose. 

Up  rose  the  sun  to  greet  the  infant  morn  ; 
The  first  the  nineteenth  century  to  adorn 
With  golden  light 

Throughout  the  lands-that  date  from  Jesus'  birth, 
Amoncr  the  learned  nations  of  the  earth 

o 

Of  Christian  rite. 

*  Little  friend,  in  the  Algonquin  language. 


64  ADOPTED. 

And  even  here,  upon  the  border  wild, 

Where  recently  had  Christian  influence  smiled 

With  love  to  man  — 

Higher  and  higher  still  its  virtues  rise, 

A  model  of  the  Christian  sacrifice, 

Its  growth  began. 

Permilla,  like  the  spirit  of  its  type, 

Without  pretension,  but  in  practice  right, 

To  Henston  said : 

"  My  dear,  shall  we  adopt  the  little  one, 

As  if  he  were  our  own  beloved  son 

Inherited?" 

The  happy  Henston  granted  her  request; 
And  here  the  little  wanderer  found  rest 
And  mother's  pride. 
And  in  a  father's  tender  love  he  grew, 
To  multiply  his  nuptial  bliss  anew 
With  his  good  bride. 

Permilla,  ah  !  how  little  did  you  know 

The  love  abiding  that  should  ever  grow 

Till  life  should  end, 

Through  your  maternal  love  for  Henston's  boy, 

That  to  your  gate  had  come  so  meek  and  coy 

To  seek  a  friend. 

A  floral  wreath  was  tattooed  on  his  arm, 
Done  when  an  infant  as  a  secret  charm 
To  memorize 

The  blue-eyed  girl  the  father  left  behind, 
Whose  image  haunted  his  regretful  mind, 
A  sacrifice. 

These  wounds  now  healed,  his  cup  of  bliss  brimmed 

o'er ; 
And  yet  a  kindly  wish  his  bosom  bore 


A   NEW  CHARACTER. 


To  — 'Neenwateen; 

But  the  young  child  could  give  but  small  relief 
In  his  eventful  tale  of  childish  grief 
Unknown  to  kin. 


A  modest  youth  of  lowly  parentage. 

Once  lived  within  New  England's  just  presage 

But  little  known. 

He  had  a  brain  eccentric  in  its  charm, 

A  conscience  sensitive  and  void  of  harm 

In  him  was  shown. 

His  love  was  deep  and  every  action  na'ive, 

Few  were  his  words,  but  his  young  heart  was  brave 

And  captious,  too. 

He  was  opposed  to  Christian  faith  or  creeds, 

And  only  plumed  himself  on  noble  deeds 

To  justice  true. 

All  christians  seemed  to  shun  the  wayward  youth, 

And  branded  him  heretical  to  truth 

With  shame  distraught. 

Beneath  a  public  load  of  guilt  thus  bowed, 

His  stubborn  heart  in  its  rebellion  vowed 

Free  speech  and  thought. 

In  vain  the  earnest  deacons  with  him  plead ; 
To  all  their  pious  counsels  he  was  dead  — 
In  purpose  fell : 

But  yet  there  was  a  voice  that  he  would  hear ; 
And  when  it  spoke  to  him,  there  came  a  tear 
His  thoughts  to  tell. 

'Twas  young  Permilla's  ;  whose  resistless  charm 
Subdued  the  force  of  his  uplifted  arm 

5 


66  LOVE'S  DESPAIR. 

Rebellious  raised. 

From  her  he  learned  the  evening  prayer  to  say, 
While  her  example  led  him  in  the  way 
Where  God  was  praised. 

What  marvel  such  an  idol  won  his  heart ! 

She  was  his  life  —  his  God  —  his  better  part  — 

Though  but  a  child. 

The  nuptial  vow  was  sealed  on  either  side, 

When  she  should  take  his  hand  and  be  his  bride 

By  love  beguiled. 

And  yet  this  child  still  languished  for  the  boy 
With  whom  her  infant  days  were  "spent  with  joy, 
Forever  fled : 

But  he,  with  it,  had  vanished  like  a  dream  ; 
And  other  hopes  of  plighted  love  might  gleam 
If  he  was  dead. 

The  lover  now  the  father  took  aside, 
And  humbly  sued  him  for  the  gentle  bride 
With  throbbing  heart : 
When  he,  with  fury  raging  angrily, 
Rebuked  the  swain  for  his  temerity, 
And  bade  depart. 

The  heavens  now  darkened  to  the  lover's  eyes ; 

His  heart  was  crushed,  and  he  a  sacrifice 

To  love's  despair. 

A  raving  maniac  away  he  fled, 

And  soon  was  numbered  with  the  missing  dead- 

No  one  knew  where. 

Permilla,  now  the  victim  of  despair, 
Fled  from  the  turmoil  of  parental  care 
Her  shame  to  hide, 

And  found  a  refuge  from  the  eye  of  scorn 
In  solitude  unknown  ;  —  with  hope  forlorn 
Alone  she  sighed. 


A   STRANGE  MEETING.  67 

But  heaven's  decrees  protect  the  victimed  one. 

As  William  to  his  home  receives  her  son 

As  his  own  child. 

And  now  Permilla,  through  her  sighs  and  tears, 

Is  schooled  in  charity  beyond  her  years 

By  love  beguiled. 


We'll  now  return  again  to  Henston's  home, 
Ornate  with  bowers,  where  love  delights  to  roam, 
The  soul  to  please  ; 

When,  at  the  noontide  hour  of  summer's  day, 
The  western  winds  beneath  the  shadows  play 
Under  the  trees, 

While  thus  were  seated  in  the  grateful  shade, 
Which  o'er  the  lawn  its  flickering  outline  laid, 
Henston  and  wife. 

A  carriage  drove  within  their  open  gate  : 
Henston  advanced  to  on  the  strangers  wait, 
With  manners  rife, 

When  his  astonished  eyes  beheld  within 
His  Indian  mistress,  Gheezhigneenwateen  — 
With  easy  air. 

Her  husband,  Henry,  sitting  by  her  side 
Was  he  who  sought  Permilla  for  his  bride 
In  humble  prayer. 

Permilla  recognized  his  well  known  face ; 

While  heaven  armed  her  with  a  prudent  grace 

To  justify 

The  recognition  of  a  youthful  friend, 

Whose  welcome  call  by  no  means  could  transcend 

A  social  tie. 


68  THE  INTRODUCTION. 

Then  Henston  took  the  hand  of — 'Neenwateen, 

And  introduced  the  daughter  of  a  queen 

To  his  good  wife 

As  an  old  friend  of  his  erratic  days, 

Whose  father,  in  his  own  ingenious  ways, 

Had  saved  his  life. 

And  soon  inquiry  came  about  her  son  — 
Her  first-born,  when  her  wedded  life  begun  — 
Whose  name  was  Swan. 

The  boy  was  brought ;  but  with  a  vacant  stare 
Beheld  his  mother,  from  whose  tender  care 
He'd  been  withdrawn 

When,  at  the  victory  gained  by  General  Wayne, 

The  vanquished,  fleeing  through  the  wooded  main, 

Lost  was  the  child, 

And  soon  into  the  victor's  lines  he  fell ; 

But  none  there  were  his  parentage  to  tell, 

Or  romance  wild 

By  which  the  little  wanderer  had  sprung 
Into  the  world,  the  Western  wilds  among, 
With  blanched  face ; 
And  as  a  trophy  from  the  Western  wild, 
A  volunteer  took  home  the  captured  child 
To  his  own  place. 

But  in  his  veins  nobility  was  bred, 

From  sire  and  mother  both  inherited 

By  nature's  sway 

Though  seven  years  old,  he  could  not  brook  a  sneer, 

Or  in  a  servile  attitude  appear, 

And  fled  away, 

To  rest  within  a  tender  father's  care ; 

And  all  the  sweets  of  home,  sweet  home,  to  share, 

In  plenty  spread. 


THE  PARTING.  69 

The  mother,  though  a  native,  was  discreet ; 
Her  heart  was  full  of  joy  her  child  to  meet  — 
Thus  rescued. 

She  pressed  her  first-born  to  her  throbbing  breast, 

And  turned  her  eye  toward  the  distant  West, 

Her  native  place, 

Then  unto  Henston  with  emotion  sighed, 

"  I  give  my  child  to  you,  to  be  allied 

To  the  white  race." 

With  deep  impression  now  the  parting  came ; 

When  Henry  spoke  Permilla's  dearest  name 

In  sad  good-by ; 

While  she  serenely  smiled  with  deep  refrain, 

As  early  recollections  came  again, 

As  visions  fly. 

Permilla  next  embraced  the  Indian  bride, 
Who  pensive  lingered  by  her  husband's  side 
In  dreamy  thought. 

All  looked  again,  and  said  the  word  good-by ; 
The  curtain  drops  with  many  a  parting  sigh 
By  memory  brought. 


CANTO  VI. 

The  scene  of  this  Canto  is  laid  at  the  house  of  Henston  and  Per- 
tnilla,  to  which  Alfred  and  William,  Jr.,  have  found  their  way  soon  after 
their  arrival  in  the  new  settlement. 

ONE  day,  when  summer's  haze  had  fled, 
And  autumn's  touch  had  tinged  with  red 
The  leaf  that  flies  before  the  wind 
And  leaves  its  naked  stem  behind, 
Alone  upon  the  balcony, 
Permilla  sat  in  reverie : 
Two  travelers  approached  her  door, — 
One  of  the  youths  she'd  seen  before. 

"  It  is  ! — it  is  my  dearest  boy  ! " 

She  almost  cried  aloud  for  joy; 

But  prudence  to  her  rescue  came, 

And  she  salutes  him  by  his  name. 

"  My  boys,  I'll  be  your  mother  here, 

As  if  you  were  my  oldest  sons ;" 

Then  wipes  away  a  gathering  tear 

And  calls  around  her  little  ones 

To  show  them  their  big  brothers  now — 

An  epithet  that  all  allow 

To  measure  out  a  hearty  cheer 

And  welcome  to  the  pioneer. 

The  last  reserve  within  her  heart 
Was  sheltered  with  a  virgin's  art ; 
It  longed  to  make  its  secret  known 
And  then  recoiled  to  love  alone  : — 

70 


THE  HEART'S  RESERVE.  71 

An  altar  in  a  sacred  shrine, 
A  treasure  in  a  hidden  mine ; 
An  ever  living  and  unspent 
Well-spring  of  love,  by  fortune  sent, 
To  shed  around  her  happy  sphere 
A  magic  charm  that  all  revere  ; 
As  if  her  heart  here  held  a  reserve 
Some  destined  purposes  to  serve ; 
And  happy  they  whose  fortune  shared 
The  sweets  of  life  her  hands  prepared. 

Alfred  and  William's  happy  lot 

To  these  enchantments  now  were  brought, 

As  if  a  destiny  to  fill 

Obedient  to  a  higher  will 

That  always  smiles  upon  the  good, 

When  virtue's  rightly  understood. 

Amidst  this  spacious  forest  home 
Their  youthful  feet  delight  to  roam  ; 
For  there's  a  grandeur  in  its  shades, 
Gleaming  with  rivers  and  with  glades — 
A  boundless  wilderness  of  trees 
Bred  in  an  age  of  mysteries, 
That  man  may  in  its  depths  renew 
An  Eden,  where  first  pleasures  grew 
In  beauty,  spread  o'er  nature's  face, 
To  benefit  the  human  race. 

The  cabin  of  the  pioneer, 
With  all  its  rough  exterior, 
Reposing  on  the  forest  farm, 
Is  not  without  its  rural  charm  ; 
For  off  within  its  creaking  door 
In  flowing  basket  and  in  store, 
In  all  the  sweet  amenities 
That  help  to  gladden  and  to  please, 


72  THE  LOG   CABIN. 

I  n  thought  and  speech  and  frankness  crowned ; 
A  model  household  may  be  found. 

The  cottage  of  New  England  dells, 
Where  industry  in  comfort  dwells, 
While  Muses  charm  a  tuneful  chime, 
Will  live  in  memory  and  rhyme. 
Then  why  should  less  the  log-built  cot 
In  measured  numbers  be  forgot 
Where  lives  again  the  early  days 
Of  "Auld"  New  England's  pleasing  ways?' 

The  child  is  taught  his  ABC, 
And  nightly  on  the  bended  knee, 
Glad  in  his  Heavenly  Father's  care, 
Repeats  his  simple  nursery  prayer. 

These  teachings  came  from  Plymouth  rock, 
Inherited  from  English  stock 
Of  Puritans  in  James  First's  reign, 
Transported  o'er  the  watery  main. 

And  provident  is  nature's  hand, 
With  ample  means  at  her  command 
To  multiply  this  leaven,  sent, 
Till  it  has  rilled  the  continent. 

When  childhood  into  youth  has  grown, 
Then  grows  the  seed  thus  early  sown, 
To  ripen  in  maturer  age  ; — 
Attuned  to  glowing  youth's  presage. 

The  festive  boards  and  gilded  halls, 
Are  not  the  scenes  that  age  recalls 
As  treasured  most  of  early  days, — 
Or  fittest  for  the  Muses'  lays. 

The  inward  thoughts  that  flush  the  mind 
When  youth  to  manhood  is  inclined, 


THE  PIONEER.  73 

And  chafes  to  join  of  life  the  dance 
That  fires  the  heart  as  years  advance  : 

'Tis  then  the  adolescent  soul 
Is  thirsty  for  the  flowing  bowl ; 
And  copious  drinks  the  living  spring 
Of  youth's  precocious  inkling, 
And  revels  in  the  sunny  hours 
Along  a  path  of  blushing  flowers. 

And  why  should  not  these  halcyon  days 
Be  spent  in  these  enchanted  ways— 
If  honor  rules  the  fleeting  hour 
And  grasps  the  reins  of  rising  power? 

These  are  the  springs  of  stoned  fame 
That  ornament  the  nation's  name,— 
The  driving  wheels  that  move  the  train 
Of  public  good  through  private  gain. 

For  aught  that  tends  to  private  good 
Will  tend,  if  rightly  understood, 
To  compensate  the  public  weal  ; 
And  stamp  it  with  a  golden  seal — 
The  emblematic  guarantee 
Of  freedom,  faith  and  liberty. 

These  inspirations  rule  the  mind 
When  governments  are  first  designed  ; 
And  in  their  early  years  dispense 
The  measure  of  benevolence, 
In  which  all  have  an  even  share 
As  subjects  of  the  public  care  ; 
This  is  the  charm  that  rallies  here 
The  bold,  adventurous  pioneer. 

Peculiar  to  his  special  age, 

Alone  he  stands  on  history's  page  ; 


74  FOKEST  LIFE. 

He  lived  and  grew  on  nature's  spoil, 

Teeming  in  plenty  from  the  soil 

And  never  felt  a  servile  fear 

Or  cringed  beneath  a  haughty  sneer 

From  any  man  above  his  grade 

To  whom  an  homage  should  be  paid. 

His  garments  were  of  rustic  woof, 
The  product  of  the  hetchel  tooth ; 
Or  buckskin  of  domestic  brand, 
Or  woolen  fabrics  made  by  hand. 
But  honor  in  his  manly  breast 
Was  graced  with  nature's  gentleness. 

While  basking  in  her  youthful  days, 
The  rising  state  its  tribute  pays 
To  merit,  though  of  humble  birth. 
It  is  received  for  what  it's  worth, 
And  industry  commands  its  price, 
Unshackled  yet  by  art's  device. 

These  were  her  trusty  days  of  youth, 
Of  gushing  sentiment  and  truth, 
Self  sacrifice  and  patriot  zeal, 
To  faithful  serve  the  public  weal : 
When  honesty  a  premium  wins, — 
Essential  ere  a  man  begins 
A  place  of  public  trust  to  fill, 
Elected  by  the  people's  will. 

A  forest  life  in  freedom's  air 
Exempts  a  man  from  social  care ; 
And  all  his  household  share  the  charm 
That  gathers  round  a  forest  farm. 

Each  member  has  a  horse  to  ride, 
And  every  girl,  with  modest  pride, 
Accomplished  in  equestrian  skill, 
Swift  through  the  vale  and  o'er  the  hill, 


THE  FOREST  CAMP.  75 

She  vanishes  away  with  speed 
When  mounted  on  her  flying  steed. 

Even  the  mother  rides  with  art, 
And  plays  with  ease  Diana's  part, 
As  gracefully  she  reins  her  steed, 
Ambling  along  with  carefuler  heed. 

Their  ample  board  is  daily  spread 
With  fowl  and  meat  by  nature  bred, — 
The  product  of  the  marksman's  skill, 
While  ranging  through  the  heather  still. 

The  boys  are  dextrous  in  this  art ; 
And  each  can  play  the  hunter's  part, 
E'en  while  they're  in  the  early  teen— 
With  tenor  voice  and  beardless  chin. 

Oh,  give  me  the  wild  woods,  my  hearties,  for  cheer  ! 
The  dog,  and  the  gun,  and  the  carnival  here, 
Of  the  camp  in  the  forest,  where  earth  is  our  bed, 
Beneath  the  broad  canopy  over  our  head  ! 

The  venison  is  pierced  with  the  sharp  wooden  spit, 
The  "Johnny  cake"  mixt  and  the  camp  fires  lit ; 
When  all  is  made  ready  the  camp  cloth  is  spread, 
And  jollity  reigns  while  the  hunters  are  fed. 

You  may  feast  on  your  luxuries  dainty  and  rare, 
With  your  dishes  disguised  for  an  epicure's  snare, 
And  your  appetite  pampered  with  brandy  and  wine, 
So  essential  to  guests  when  invited  to  dine, — 
But  give  me  the  feasts  which  the  hunters  prepare, 
Invitingly  spread  in  the  wilderness  air. 

And  give  me  the  joys  that  the  pioneer  knows, 
When   the  forest  is  felled  by  the  wood-chopper's 

blows ; 

The  orchard  is  planted,  the  cabin  is  made, 
And  olans  for  the  future  successfully  laid. 


76  LASTING  IMPRESSIONS. 

Light  taxes  to  pay,  and  no  suits  to  defend, 
No  assessments  to  fee  a  political  friend, 
No  clannish  inductions  or  intricate  rings, 
The  popular  conscience  to  wound  with  its  stings. 

A  man  every  inch  is  the  pioneer  bold  ; 

His  wealth  is  in  treasures  more  precious  than  gold; 

He  carries  his  youth  till  in  years  he  is  old, 

And  his  name  is  with  honor  forever  enrolled. 

A  mansion  may  follow  his  wilderness  cot, 
Luxury  may  gather  around  the  wild  spot, 
The  wealth  of  the  Indies  may  fall  to  his  lot ; 
But  his  bushwhacking  riot  is  never  forgot. 


CANTO  VII. 

CHARACTERS  REPRESENTED. 

WILLIAM,  foster-father  of  William,  Jr. 

SARAH,  foster-mother  of  William,  Jr. 

LYDIA,  William,  Jr's,  intended  bride.  •• 

WILTON,  Lydia's  father. 

MARY,  Lydia's  mother. 

GRACE,  Alfred's  intended  bride. 

JUDSON,  Grace's  father.  , 

HANNAH,  Grace's  mother. 

JACOB,  Alfred's  father. 

EMILY,  Alfred's  mother. 

PROLOGUE. 

THREE  sturdy  oaks  stood  in  an  open  ground, 
Whose  bracing  roots  had  pierced  the  stubborn  soil 
Through  rocky  seams  with  solid  earth  inlaid  ; 
Beneath  their  wavering  shade  all  round  there  rose 
A  shelving  quarry  just  above  the  green, 
As  if  an  earthquake  had  its  strata  turned 
Sidewise  above  the  even,  grassy  plain. 
These  venerable  oaks  had  braved  a  thousand  storms; 
And  pilgrims  learned  to  love  their  gnarled  trunks 
Which  rose  above  the  winter's  drifting  snows, 
Stripped  of  their  foliage,  like  naked  masts, 
When  ocean's  storm  rolls  up  the  swelling  wave, 
And  sails  are  reefed  before  the  angry  blasts : 
But  more  they  loved  their  summer's  noontide  shade 
That  mottled  o'er  the  rocky  plain  around. 
Hard  by,  the  parish  church  uplifts  its  spire, 
Where  every  Sabbath  came  from  far  and  near 
The  rustic  husbandman  with  wife  and  all 
To  spend  the  entire  day  in  serving  God. 

77 


78          THE  OLD  CHURCH  GROUNDS. 

Except  on  fasting  days  the  lunch  was  brought, 

To  eat  at  intermission's  quiet  hour  ; 

'Twas  then  they  gathered  in  the  oak  tree's  shade, 

And  there  around  some  venerable  sire 

Who'd  fought  at  Bunker  Hill  or  Brandywine, 

The  oft-told  tale  of  war  was  told  again,* 

But  never  told  too  oft  for  listening  ears. 

The  trodden  path  that  circled  round  and  round, 

Drew  to  the  old  church  door  its  even  way  ; 

And  old  men  tottered  on  its  scrolling  curves, 

While  youngsters  skipped  along  with  nimble  step 

To  gather  at  the  service  once  again 

When  intermission's  social  hour  was  spent. 

As 'circling  years  rolled  on,  the  grass  o'ergrew 

The  beaten  paths  around  the  old  church  door, 

And  mosses  gathered  round  the  granite  steps 

Which  nimble  feet  had  polished  with  their  tread. 

Death  had  been  tardy  with  the  elder  ones 

In  that  old-fashioned  age  of  quiet  life, 

But  one  by  one  the  youthful  sons  had  gone 

To  seek  their  fortune  on  a  grander  scale 

Than  future  promise  offered  them  at  home. 

The  evergreen  and  laurel  soon  o'ergrew 

The  grassy  pastures  where  the  cattle  fed, 

And  here  again  the  chary  partridge  drummed 

And  the  sly  fox  his  lonely  borough  dug 

Among  the  infant  forests  on  the  lawn 

Which  slowly  trenched  upon  the  homestead  farm 

For  want  of  muscular  hands  to  prune  them  down. 

The  fathers  sighed  because  the  boys  had  gone, 

The  girls  hummed  musing  airs  and  blushed  aside 

While  Eros  reigned  within  their  trusting  hearts. 

*  The  writer  himself  has  a  distant  recollection  of  listening  to  such 
recitals  from  old  revolutionary  soldiers  given  beneath  the  shadow  of 
venerable  oak  trees  which  grew  around  the  old  church  in  I.yndeborough, 
N.  H.,  which  has  long  since  been  torn  down  and  a  new  one  built  in  its 
place. 


THE   WELCOME.  79 

Scene  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  beside  the  house  of 
WILLIAM,  SR.,  the  artist  who  rescued  WILLIAM, 
]u.,/r0m  the  haunted  house  and  adopted  him 
as  his  eldest  son,  keeping  the  secret  from  him. 

Wm.     Welcome,  my  trusty  friends  who  gather 

here ! 
Warm   summer's  breath  ne'er  hummed  a  sweeter 

chime 

Than  as  it  whispers  through  the  venerable  boughs 
That  shelter  us  to  listen  to  its  song. 
It  sings  to  you  and  me  of  years  just  past 
So  lately  when  the  tree-fringed*  welkin  rung 
With  merry  shouts  and  boisterous  revelry 
From  the  lithe  tongues  of  our  erratic  boys. 
Now  they  are  men  in  measure  and  in  strength ; 
Not  wayward  in  their  bent  and  turn  of  mind, 
But  yet  a  cap  of  gray  for  their  green  heads 
Would  utilize  the  force  of  their  young  brains, 
And  lead  them  to  the  paths  of  coming  fame 
Where  western  empire's  star  is  rising  now ; — 
Yes,  where  a  thousand  leafy  falls 
Have  flushed  the  soil  with  everlasting  strength, 
Through  fertile  valleys  wild  and  desolate, 
Trod  only  by  the  deer  and  pilfering  wolf. 
Where  nature's  amplitude  has  spread  a  store 
Of  wealth  uncounted  for  the  magic  touch 
Of  hands  to  metamorphose  into  life ; 
They  will  not  leave  this  grand  inheritance 
To  delve  again  among  these  rock-clad  hills ; 
But  we  can  leave  these  toils  and  go  to  them, 
To  guide  the  kindling  fires  of  their  brains 
That  overbrim  the  muscles  of  their  limbs. 

*  Among  the  hilly  portions  of  New  England  the  lower  portions  of 
the  sky  dipped  into  pine  forests  in  the  early  day,  so  near  that  their  jagged 
tops  were  shown  in  relief  on  the  ground-work  of  blue  beyond  in  the 
charming  landscape. 


80  THE   OLD  FARM. 

Jac.     I  am  an  humble  man,  unlearned  in  speech  ; 
Have  toiled  these  forty  years  among  the  hills 
Where  rest  our  fathers  in  the  churchyard  laid. 
Here  every  rock  that  studs  the  homestead  farm, 
My  children's  little  naked  feet  have  climbed 
While  in  their  swaddling  clothes ; 
And  stood  upon  their  tops  to  see  the  sun 
Grow  larger  as  it  dipped  the  evening  sky ; 
Or  faintly  traced  the  milky-colored  moon, 
And  watched  it  till  it  grew  to  yellow  gold 
Amidst  a  firmament  of  twinkling  stars, 
While  oft  their  little  mimic  voices  chimed 
Sonorous  with  the  robin's  twilight  notes, 
That  sang  the  requiem  of  dissolving  day. 
It  may  be  weak  in  me  to  love  my  farm 
Although  my  arms  have  urged  but  feeble  store 
From  its  produce  with  many  a  weary  strain, 
And  still  these  very  toils  have  bound  me  here 
As  if  to  tear  my  very  heart  in  two ; 
While  Alfred's  lot  is  cast  in  the  far  West, 
My  feeble  hands  must  till  the  farm  alone, 
With  a  still  feebler  heart  to  urge  them  on, 
When  age  is  shortening  my  weary  step 
And  life  is  gathering  to  a  narrow  span. 

Em.    Well,  Jacob, — rocks    and    hills    and   farm 

and  all — 

When  weighed  against  our  children's  hopes  in  life, 
Would  sever  from  their  moorings  to  the  earth, 
And  vanish  like  the  silvery  spray  of  June 
Lost  in  a  cloudless  sky  at  morning's  dawn  ; 
While  yet  their  forms  may  linger  in  the  mind, 
And  cling  around  the  faithful  heart  like  tendrils 
Of  an  old  perennial  vine  whose  young  embrace 
Had  fixed  its  coils  inflexible  in  age.* 

*  It  is  within  the  memory  of  the  writer  that  the  emigration  from 
New  England  was  in  an  active  state.     It  was  called  the  western  fever ; 


PJROPHECT.  81 

Sah.     This  rosebud  (Grace)  would  blossom  in 

the  West, 
A  peerless  flower  planted  in  its  sphere. 

Gra.     You  represent  me  in*  such  brilliant  hues, 
My  feeble  tongue  is  balked  for  a  reply. 
I  am  a  plain  and  simple  girl ;  obedient, 
As  becomes  my  early  years,  withal 
Ambitious ;  with  an  ever  trusting  heart, 
Unclouded  yet  by  disappointment's  touch. 

Wm.    Well  said,  fair  Grace,  you  are  a  genius  true, 
Taught  by  Dame  Nature  in  the  modest  ways 
Becoming  to  your  years  and  to  your  sex ; 
You  and  Lydia  both  will  go  through  safe, 
Or  I'll  renounce  my  skill  in  prophecy. 
What  if  the  younger  men  are  gone  away  ? 
They'll  not  stay  long  alone ;  but  they'll  return 
As  loyal  subjects  to  the  old  hearthstone 
To  pay  allegiance  to  their  first  inheritance ; 
And  this  allegiance  will  ne'er  be  paid 
Till  each  hath  won  the  hand  of  some  fair  maid. 

Lyd.     Very  consoling,  surely,  to  the  fair  ; — 
But  what's  to  be  the  fate  of  those  who're  not,— 
Pray,  Master  William,  have  you  these  forgot  ? 

Wm.     Pardon,  Miss  Lydia,  it  is  very  clear 
There  is  no  such  problem  for  solution  here. 

WiL     E'en  if  there  were,  William  is  good  for't ; — 
He'd  dive  into  the  depths  of  her  deep  soul, 
And  to  the  surface  bring  some  panacea 
To  lift  the  pall  from  off  her  burdened  heart ; 
He'd  fan  the  dormant  spark  into  a  flame 
To  flush  her  homely  face  with  pensive  charms, 

and  even  then  so  prevalent  that  the  price  of  farms  depreciated,  pastures 
•were  allowed  to  grow  up  to  pine  forests,  old  cemetries  presented  a  lone- 
some appearance  where  rested  our  fathers,  sometimes  without  a  kindred 
descendant  to  crop  the  fuzzy  June  grass  that  grew  on  their  graves,  or 
even  prune  down  the  witch-hazel  brush  that  may  have  invaded  their 
resting  place. 
6 


82  COMPLIMENTART. 

To  win  some  thoughtful  mind  with  love  amazing 
That's  sure  to  shun  "  the  rose  that  all  are  praising." 

Lyd.     Oh,  Master  William,  luck  to  me  is  brought, 
That  in  your  tutelage  is  cast  my  lot ; 
I'll  try  to  be  as  good  as  I  can  be. 

Gra.    Pray,  Master  William,  take  the  charge  of 
me. 

Jud.     Yes,  Master  William,  they're  safe  within 
your  care— 

Mary.     From  every  danger  and  from  every  snare. 

Han.     Mary,  when  we  were  girls,  we  never  knew 
Such  consolations  for  a  homely  face. 

Wil.     They   were   not  needed ;  for  they  never 

grew 

Among  the  children  of  your  native  race  ; 
From  Plymouth  Rock  these  gifts  began  their  date, 
And  gathered  strength  as  grew  the  rising  state. 

Wm.     Nor  kings  nor  princes  are  the  patentees 
Of  aristocracy  in  sentiment ; 
The  healthiest  germs  of  true  nobility 
Take  deepest  root  within  the  fallow  soil 
Where  the  wild  flowers  unexpected  bloom  ; 
Even  as  these  young  girls  are  gently  bred, 
Clad  in  the  habitude  of  modest  aims, 
Yet  worthy  in  the  noblest  ranks  to  shine ; 
Not  through  the  rights  inherited  by  birth — 
A  juster  claim  is  theirs  to  honor's  roll ; 
It  comes  along  a  path  by  genius  trod, 
Holding  within  its  hands  those  magic  spells 
That  turn  the  purposes  of  man — 

Wil.     Toward  themselves. 

Mary.     Lydia  never  looks  so  far  ahead  ; 
She's  quite  absorbed  with  painting  and  with  books; 
Pleased  that  she  wins  her  Master  William's  praise, 
And  studious  to  honor  his  good  trust. 


THE  PAINTED  FLT.  83 

Wil.     Pardon  for  my  volition,  master  of  minds, 
I  pray  you  think  less,  for  thy  stomach's  sake ; — 
Lest  indigestion  check  the  vital  stream  : 
Leave  sentiment  to  your  pencil's  silent  tongue 
That  speaks  in  deepest  tones  of  eloquence. 
And  now,  unbend  from  deep  philosophy, 
To  revel  on  the  lowly  plain  of  life, 
Where  mortals  dwell  like  Mary  and  like  me : 
Thine  inspiration,  true,  we  sometimes  share 
To  raise  our  minds  above  the  din  of  toil ; 
And  now,  I  pay  you  back  in  my  own  coin, 
To  modify  and  recreate  your  mind. 

Sah.     I'll  pardon  you,  and  thank  you,  too, 
For  interposing  with  such  kind  behoof; 
You  represent  a  law  that's  practical — 
And  leads  us  through  the  plain  routine  of  life ; 
While  William  takes  us  up  the  Alpine  heights 
Of  maiden's  dreams,  where  all  delight  to  go, 
But  cannot  tarry  there  through  middle  age, 
While  threading  through  the  paths  of  life  the  stage. 

Wm.     My  friends,  I   stand  confessed  a  culprit 

here  ; 

Excuse  the  unwitting  thefts  that  banish  cheer, 
Let  lighter  studies  variegate  the  scene. 

Sah.     And  aught  that  pleases  us  may  intervene. 
Lydia,  where  have  you  gone  so  coy  and  shy  ? 

Mary.     She's  just  sat  down  to  paint  a  little  fly, 
Just  lit  upon  that  rich  Bohemian  vase  :— - 
Well,  let  the  insect  quietly  remain. 

Han.     To  try  to  frighten  it  would  be  in  vain  ; 
Though  but  a  bit  of  paint,  it  is  a  fly  ; — 
If  we  can  trust  the  measure  of  our  eye. 
Grace,  what  do  you  think  of  this  illusive  art  ? 

Grace.     It  is  just  the  thing  to  play  a  comic  part ; 
When  the  next  thirsty  traveler  passes  by, 
If  from  the  vase  he  brushes  at  the  fly 


84  THE  FLOCK  OF  GEESE. 

Ere  his  parched  lips  may  taste  the  cooling  draught, 
Then  Lydia  's  crowned  the  mistress  of  her  craft. 

Wm.     I  leave  this  all  to  you,  mischievous  girls, 
This  is  your  realm  when  in  your  teens  and  curls  ; 
But  don't  forget  that  ev'n  a  silly  fly 
May  sometimes  "  cast  the  hazard  of  a  die." 
Sarah,  my  dear,  look  at  this  quaint  device 
That  Lydia's  hand  has  made  but  in  a  trice 
Inside  the  brim  of  this  Bohemian  vase, 
With  folded  wings  of  finest  gossamer  lace, 
A  model  of  the  one  you  like  so  well, 
That  sits  in  silence  like  a  fairy  spell 
Where  first  unwittingly  it  quickly  grew — 
A  monument  of  your  father's  care  for  you. 

Sah.    Lydia,  you  have  a  very  ready  touch, 
To  improvise  so  quickly ;  quite  as  much 
As  practiced  masters  in  their  reveries 
Who've  graduated  at  fine  art's  degrees. 

WiL     Young  girls,  look  there  among  the  distant 

pines 

Where  round  the  point  the  scrolling  road  inclines ; 
Two  men  are  coming  at  a  rapid  pace 
As  if  intent  upon  a  walking  race  ; 
They're  two  athletic  youths  its  plain  to  see, 
So  quick  they've  vanished  round  the  open  lea, 
Along  the  river's  craggy  headland  shore, 
Round  which  its  limpid  waters  swiftly  pour. 

Wm.  \Calling  to  the  hired  man. 

Elisha,  drive  that  flock  of  geese  away. 

WiL     I  pray  you,  William,  let  them  stay  awhile  ; 
To  youthful  travelers  they're  a  tempting  wile  ; 
Their  downy  breasts  suggest  a  feather  bed, — 
A  bride's  behest  when  to  the  altar  led. 
While  yet  remains  a  single  miss  at  home 
The  feathered  flock  is  still  allowed  to  roam ; 


THE  SURPRISE.  85 

Essential  when  the  girl  becomes  a  wife, 

To  furnish  her  a  start  in  married  life. 

Hence,  youthful  travelers  call  where  geese  are  seen, 

To  bandy  words  with  circumspectful  mien  ; 

Expecting  there  to  find  some  blushing  sprite 

To  play  the  hostess  in  her  ways  polite ; 

And  if  you  let  those  feathered  fowls  remain  ; 

To  feed  in  quiet  on  the  grassy  plain, 

Those  two  young  men  will  hardly  pass  the  place 

Without  a  halt  to  see  a  pretty  face. 

Lyd.     Then,    Elisha,     drive    those   goslins    far 
away,— 

Gra.     That  they  may  not  our  single  lot  betray. 

The  two  young  travelers  now  approach,  and  prove 
to  be  ALFRED  and  WILLIAM,  JR.,  unexpectedly 
returned  from  the  West.  After  the  first  flush 
of  mingled  joy  and  surprise  are  over,  the  wine 
vase  is  filled,  and  WILLIAM  requested  to  fill  the 
glasses  from  it.  All  eyes  are  turned  toward 
him  to  see  if  he  would  notice  the  painted  fly. 
He  made  a  motion  to  brush  it  away  before  fill- 
ing the  glasses.  LYDIA  bore  the  complimentary 
honors  with  becoming  modesty.  WILLIAM  and 
SARAH  are  moved  with  deep  emotion.  Here 
we  will  leave  the  happy  group  to  renew  the  old 
ties  of  consanguinity  with  ALFRED  and  WILL- 
IAM, JR.,  and  listen  to  their  adventures  in  the 
great  interior  ; — as  the  valley  of  the  Mus kin- 
gum  was  then  looked  upon  to  be. 


CANTO  VIII. 

The  scene  of  this  canto  is  on  a  pleasure  boat  on  the 
Merrimac  river. 

CHARACTERS  REPRESENTED. 

WILLIAM  and  his  wife,  SARAH,  and  their  children. 

WILTON  and  his  wife,  MARY. 

JACOB  and  his  wife,  EMILY. 

JUDSON  and  his  wife,  HANNAH. 

WILLIAM,  JR. 

ALFRED. 

GRACE. 

LYDIA. 

HENSTON  and  his  wife,  PERMILLA,  on  a  visit  from  the  West. 

WiL    Friends,  we  are  here  to  honor  our  guests — 
Henston,  and  his  distinguished  wife,  Permilla  ; 
And  with  this  end  in  view,  we  now  embark 
On  this  delightsome  range  along  these  shores, 
Bathed  by  this  limpid  stream  on  either  side, 
And  animate  with  life  and  beauty  crowned. 
Not  long  ago  these  undulating  hills 
Were  all  our  fathers  knew  of  our  land ; 
Now  they  are  but  the  portals  to  its  depths ; 
Majestic  in  their  wild,  unmeasured  realms  — 
A  broad  asylum  hidden  in  reserve, 
Our  generation's  purposes  to  serve. 
Henston,  you've  sounded  them  with  bold  design  ; 
We  pray  you  would  delight  our  listening  ears 
With  some  recitals  of  your  frontier  life 
When  you  were  hemmed  amidst  the  fields  of  strife. 

Hen.     True,  I  have  served  my  country  as  a  spy, 
Far  in  the  wilds  bequeathed  to  savage  ken, 

86 


INDIAN    CAPTIVES.  87 

By  the  great  Manitou,  the  master  of  their  lives. 

While  faithful  I  have  served  my  country's  flag, 

Still  pity  oft  hath  reveled  in  my  heart 

For  many  a  hero  taught  in  nature's  book, 

High  bred  with  lofty  virtues  never  known 

Within  a  trained  civilian's  coysome  breast. 

I've  shared  the  mat,*  and  the  last  stinted  meal 

By  savage  hospitality  vouchsafed, 

When  I  was  but  a  traitor  in  disguise 

To  spread  the  toils  of  danger  in  their  camp : 

And  yet  they  loved  me  for  my  friendly  mask ; — 

For  why  should  they  withhold  their  gushing  faith, 

Untutored  as  they  were  in  courtly  wiles? 

Full  many  a  blanched  face  among  them  grew, 

Right  loyal  to  their  naive  allurements, 

That  live  and  grow  and  gather  marvelous  strength 

Amidst  their  charmed  and  voiceless  solitudes. 

Some  cast  their  lot  among  them  as  a  choice  ; 

As  hermits  shelter  like  a  hid  recluse ; 

Others  were  captives  in  their  tender  years 

And  only  knew  a  swarthy  parent's  love,— 

Sanguine  and  concentrated  in  its  gush, 

And  unalloyed  with  ceremonial  bonds. 

'Twas  thus  I  found  them  in  their  forest  haunts 

When  General  Wayne  invaded  their  domain  ; 

And  oft  I  sent  him  messages  of  trust 

By  shy  apostates  to  their  waning  cause. 

And  when  the  fatal  day  of  battle  came, 

The  painted  braves  were  in  a  covert  crouched 

Where  the  tornado's  gathering  wrath  had  mowed 

The  standing  forests  like  the  hayman's  scythe.f 

*  A  skin  spread  on  the  ground,  on  which  the  Indians  slept. 

fThe  place  that  the  Indian  chief,  Little  Turtle,  had  chosen  to  fight 
General  Wayne  was  called  the  "Fallen  Timber;"  where  a  tornado  had 
leveled  the  forest  a  few  years  before,  and  afforded  a  covert,  for  the  Indians 
supposed  it  to  be  impenetrable  to  Wayne's  army ;  but  they  were  easily 
driven  from  it  by  shelling  the  treacherous  place  of  ambush. 


88  THE   BATTLE. 

Here,  like  a  thunderbolt  from  cloudless  skies, 
A  sudden  storm  of  shot  and  fiery  shells 
Burst  vengefully  amidst  their  ambuscade. 
Before  this  tempest  fierce  of  flying  shot, 
Then  Little  Turtle  fled  from  his  white  foes  ; — 
He  who  had  conquered  many  a  hard-fought  field, 
By  Harmer-and  St.  Clair  and  others  waged, 
He  was  a  brave  but  fallen  chieftain  now, 
But  no  dishonor  stained  his  martial  brow. 

Wm.    Where  were  you,  Henston,  when  the  battle 

raged  ? 

Hen.     Not  very  far  from  Little  Turtle's  side  :  — 
I  watched  the  hero  when  his  warriors  fled, 
Retreating  to  the  kindly  forest  glooms 
When  consternation  filled  each  warrior's  heart, 
Hid  by  a  wooden  immobility 
That  scorned  to  cower  before  a  victor's  wand ; 
But  yet  some  tender  words  to  captives  said 
Fell  from  their  foster  fathers'  earnest  tongues,* 

*  The  following  statement  of  John  Brickell,  already  quoted  in  a  pre- 
vious canto,  was  published  in  the  American  Pioneer  in  1844;  and  is  here 
inserted  as  authentic  testimony  to  show  in  its  true  light  the  simple  vir- 
tues that  illumined  the  dark  and  thorny  path  of  the  Indians.  Their  con- 
querors have  been  their  historians,  and  this  gives  increased  value  to  any 
information  from  unprejudiced  eye-witnesses  from  among  them: 

"  On  the  same  day  Whingwy  Pooshies  told  me  I  must  go  over  to  the 
fort.  The  children  hung  round  me  crying,  and  asked  me  if  I  was  going 
to  leave  them?  I  told  them  I  did  not  know.  When  we  got  over  to  the 
fort,  and  were  seated  with  the  officers,  Whingwy  Pooshies  told  me  to 
stand  up,  which  I  did;  he  then  rose  and  addressed  me  in  about  these 
words:  'My  son,  there  are  men  the  same  color  with  yourself.  There 
may  be  some  of  your  kin  there,  or  your  kin  may  be  a  great  way  off  from 
you.  You  have  lived  a  long  time  with  us.  I  call  on.  you  to  say  if  I 
have  not  been  a  father  to  you?  If  I  have  not  used  you  as  a  father  would 
use  a  son?'  I  said,  'You  have  used  me  as  well  as  a  father  could  use  a 
son.'  He  said,  'I  am  glad  you  say  so.  You  have  lived  long  with  me; 
you  have  hunted  for  me;  but  our  treaty  says  you  must  be  free.  If  you 
choose  to  go  with  the  people  of  your  own  color,  I  have  no  right  to  say  a 
word ;  but  if  you  choose  to  stay  with  me,  your  people  have  no  right  to 
speak.  Now  reflect  on  it  and  take  your  choice,  and  tell  us  as  soon  as 
you  make  up  your  mind.'  I  was  silent  a  few  minutes,  in  which  time  it 
seemed  as  if  I  thought  of  almost  everything.  I  thought  of  the  children 
I  had  just  left  crying;  I  thought  of  the  Indians  I  was  attached  to,  and  I 
thought  of  my  people  which  I  remembered,  and  this  latter  thought  pre- 


WHINGWT  POOS  HIES.  89 

Which  measured  the  unchanging  love  that  burns 
Spontaneous  in  each  unpretending  heart 
For  these  loved  ones  from  whom  they  now  must 
part. 

dominated;  and  I  said,  'I  will  go  with  my  kin.'  The  old  man  then  said, 
'  I  have  raised  you;  I  have  learned  you  to  hunt.  You  are  a  good  hunter. 
— You  have  been  better  to  me  than  my  own  sons.  I  am  now  getting 
old  and  I  cannot  hunt.  I  thought  vou  would  be  a  support  to  my  age.  I 
leaned  on  you  as  on  a  staff.  Now  it  is  broken. — You  are  going  to  leave 
me, and  I  have  no  right  to  say  a  word;  but  I  am  ruined.'  He  then  sank 
back  in  tears  to  his  seat.  I  heartily  joined  him  in  his  tears — parted  with 
him,  and  have  never  seen  nor  heard  of  him  since. 

"  The  Delawares  are  the  best  people  to  train  up  children  I  ever  was 
with.  They  never  whip,  and  scarce  ever  scold  them.  I  was  once  struck 
a  stroke,  and  but  once  while  a  member  of  the  family ;  and  then  but  just 
touched.  They  are  remarkably  quiet  in  the  domestic  circle.  A  dozen 
may  be  in  one  cabin,  of  all  ages,  and  often  scarcely  noise  enough  to  pre- 
vent the  hearing  a  pin  fall  on  a  hard  place.  Their  leisure  hours  are,  in  a 
measure,  spent  in  training  up  their  children  to  observe  what  they  believe 
to  be  right.  They  often  point  out  bad  examples  to  them  and  say,  '  See 
that  bad  man,  he  is  despised  by  everybody ;  he  is  older  than  you ;  if  you 
do  as  he  does,  everybody  will  despise  you  by  the  time  you  are  as  old  as 
he  is.'  They  often  point  to  good  examples  as  worthy  of  imitation;  such 
as  braves  and  honest  men.  I  know  I  am  influenced  to  good,  even  at 
this  day,  more  from  what  I  learned  among  them  than  what  I  learned 
among  people  of  my  own  color.  Well  might  Jefferson  say,  'The  prin- 
ciples of  their  society  forbid  all  compulsion.' 

"  Honesty,  bravery,  and  hospitality  are  cardinal  virtues  with  them. 
Let  a  man  prove  himself  remiss  in  either  of  these  respects,  and  he  will 
soon  find  he  has  no  business  with  that  people.  If  a  man  prove  to  be 
cowardly,  the  finger  of  scorn  is  soon  pointed  at  him,  and  he  hears 
'  Squaw ! '  pronounced.  In  that  way  they  turn  a  strong  current  of  public 
sentiment  against  all  commissions  or  omissions  of  their  moral  and  re- 
ligious code.  In  respect  to  hospitality  and  neighborly  kindness,  thev  set 
a  good  example  for  any  people  to  follow.  It  may  be  truly  said  of  them 
in  the  language  of  Logan,  '  When  did  ever  a  white  man  enter  an  Indian 
cabin  hungry,  and  he  gave  him  no  meat?'  When  a  company  of  strangers 
or  travelers  come  to  a  town  and  encamp,  they  are  not  asked  if  they  want 
anything,  but  a  runner  starts  through 'the  town  proclaiming  that  strang- 
ers have  arrived.  On  this  intelligence  every  family  cooks  of  the  best  they 
have  and  take  to  the  strangers,  for  which  there  is  no  thought  of  a  charge 
being  made,  or  anything  given  in  return.  If  they  want  to  be  helped  on 
their  way,  every  possible  assistance  is  granted  them  in  the  same  benevo- 
lent spirit.  Their  rules  and  traditions  forbid  any  indiscriminate  inter- 
course of  the  sex*es;  and  I  believe,  as  respects  the  crimes  of  fornication 
and  adultery,  they  are  the  most  strictlv  chaste  and  virtuous  people  on  earth. 
They  worship  the  Great  Spirit,  whom  they  call  Manitou ;  which  signifies 
or  conveys  to  their  mind  the  idea  of  all  strength,  or  rather  all  sufficiency. 
They  never  used  that  name  irreverently  on  one  occasion  when  I  was 
with  them.  They  have  no  terms  in  their  language  by  which  they  can 
swear  profanely  ;  and  if  they  ever  do  it,  it  must  be  by  means  of  phrases 
learned  of  white  men.  Their  young,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  reverence 


90  WHINGWT  POOSHIES. 

Sah.     Were  they  delivered  up  to  their  own  kin  ? 

Hen.     Yes,  with  many  a  tender  parting  word. 
Old  Whingwy  Pooshies  was  an  aged  chief, 
A  gentle  heart  reigned  in  his  iron  breast ; 
And  when  the- captives  of  the  battle-field 
That  earlier  years  had  crowned  with  victory 
Were  brought  around  the  savage  council  fires, 
They  found  in  him  a  father  in  their  griefs. 

Per.  Then  Henston  was  released  from  soldier  life; 
We  met,  and  I  am  his  obedient  wife. 

Gra.     Poor    Whingwy    Pooshies,  what  a  good 
old  man  ! 

and  honor  the  aged,  especially  their  parents.  They  do  not  covet  each 
other's  goods,  nor  intentionally  make  a  false  accusation  against  anyone, 
that  I  ever  knew. 

"It  was  about  the  first  of  June,  1795,  that  I  parted  with  Whingwy 
Pooshies.  The  next  day  I  started  for  Fort  Greenville.  I  rode  on  a  horse 
furnished  by  the  Americans.  I  was  under  the  charge  and  protection  of 
Lieutenant  Blue,  who  treated  me  with  every  kindness,  and  at  Fort  Green- 
ville had  a  good  suit  of  clothes  made  for  me  by  a  tailor.  We  had  been 
there  about  a  week  when  a  company  of  men  arrived  from  Cincinnati, 
among  whom  was  a  brother  of  my  brother's  wife,  with  whom  I  had  lived, 
and  from  whom  I  was  taken.  He  told  me  of  a  sister  I  had  who  was 
married  and  lived  about  nine  miles  from  Cincinnati,  up  Licking,  on  the 
Kentucky  side.  I  then  left  Mr.  Blue  at  Fort  Greenville  and  went  to  my 
sister's.  She  and  all  the  neighbors  seemed  to  be  overjoyed;  and  a  great 
crowd  collected  to  see  me  and  hear  about  my  living  among  the  Indians. 

"  In  1797  I  came  to  this  place,  that  is  now  Columbus,  Ohio,  and  have 
resided  here  ever  since;  generally  enjoying  good  health,  never  having 
cost  a  dollar  in  my  life  for  medical  aid,  and  without  ever  wearing  any- 
thing like  a  stocking  inside  of  my  moccasins,  shoes,  or  boots,  from  the 
time  I  went  among  them  to  this  day;  and  I  can  say,  what  perhaps  few 
can  at  this  day,  that  my  feet  are  never  cold. 

"  At  another  time,  the  Lord  granting  the  opportunity,  I  will  give 
more  of  the  incidents  of  my  life,  as  connected  with  the  settlement  and 
improvement  of  the  country.  One  thing  seemed  remarkable.  While 
among  the  Indians  I  often  prayed  to  be  released  from  my  captivity  and 
to  live  among  a  Christian  people  again ;  promising,  if  the  Lord  would 
grant  that  blessing,  I  would  make  open  profession  of  his  name.  Soon 
after  my  arrival  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pittsburg,  I  thought  the  time 
had  come; but  my  courage  failed,  and  I  prayed  to  be  excused  till  I  settled 
in  the  world.  That  prayer  seemed  to  be  granted;  and,  soon  after  I  set- 
tled on  the  Sciota,  the  impressions  that  the  time  had  come  revived  with 
seemingly  double  force,  and  I  was  made  to  give  up ;  and  I  have  from  that 
time  to  this  enjoyed  the  consolations  of  religion,  which  none  can  appre- 
ciate but  those  who  have  experience  in  it.  Given  under  my  hand  in  the 
city  of  Columbus,  Ohio,  this  2gth  day  of  January,  1842." 


LITTLE    TURTLE.  91 

Lyd,     How  I  should  love  to  paint  his  grief-worn 

face, 
And  trace  the  lines  that  sorrow  there  engraved  ! 

Wm.     Yes,  such  are  rare  subjects  for  the  artist's 

touch, 

That  always  seeks  for  some  excess  of  love 
Or  hate  —  some  overweaning  dash,  to  fill 
The  measure  of  an  overzealous  heart. 
These  are  the  toys  that  artists  play  with 
At  the  easel  ;  'tis  the  harvest  for  their  hands  — 
The  common  routine  of  their  daily  toil. 

Hen.     Young  girls,  I  love  to  see  your  hearts  so 

warm 

Toward  those  old  heroic  ones;  though  lowly  born, 
They  acted  well  their  part  on  battle's  plain  ; 
They  fought  with  courage,  but  they  fought  in  vain 
Against  the  destiny  of  hidden  fate 
That  guides  the  fortunes  of  our  rising  state. 

Sah.     Where  is  the  hero,  Little  Turtle,  now  ? 

Hen,     He  is  an  old,  respected  citizen, 
Pensioned  and  honored  by  the  government, 
Whose  high  esteem  is  challenged  by  his  deeds 
As  seen  through  tenderness  to  captives  shown, 
Through  valiant  conduct  on  the  battle-field, 
And  moderate  counsels  when  a  victor  crowned.* 


*  During  the  early  frontier  wars,  Little  Turtle  adopted  a  captive 
child  named  David  Wells  into  his  family,  and  raised  him  with  exemplary 
care.  He  was  the  son  of  General  Wells,  of  Kentucky.  The  child  had 
a  great  affection  for  his  foster-father,  and  rendered  him  essential  service 
when  he  overwhelmed  the  army  of  St.  Clair  with  the  most  appalling  de- 
feat ever  received  by  an  American  army  from  the  hands  of  Indians.  Three 
years  afterward,  when  General  Wayne  invaded  the  Indian  country, 
Little  Turtle  counseled  submission;  but  was  unable  to  convince  his  peo- 
ple of  the  wisdom  of  such  a  measure.  Defeat  was  the  result;  and  the 
Indians  were  obliged  to  accept  such  terms  as  the  victors  offered,  which 
were  to  give  up  the  fairest  portions  of  their  country.  Nearly  half  the 
state  of  Ohio,  and  the  land  on  which  now  stand  the  cities  of  Chicago  and 
Detroit,  were  the  spoils  of  the  victors  at  the  treaty  of  Greenville,  that 
followed  this  defeat.  Wells  still  remained  with  the  Indians  most  of  his 
time,  although  he  sometimes  visited  his  kindred.  He  was  at  Fort  Wayne 


92  THE  MOONLIGHT  REPAST. 

Em.      Henston,  we're  much  indebted  unto  thee 
For  entertainment  on  this  evening  sail. 

Han.     With  one  accord  we  all  agree  in  this  ; 
Now  let  us  moor  our  vessel  by  the  shore, 
In  this  secluded  cove,  and  spread  our  lunch. 

Mary.     Oh,  do   not   land    in    that  old  haunted 

house ! 
Wil.     It's  just  the  place; — we  want  to  see  the 

ghosts. 
Wm.     They'll    hardly  trespass   on   our  valiant 

group, 

For  Henston  is  a  mighty  host  himself; — 
Whose  martial  figure  hardly  will  invite 
The  captious  goblins  on  a  moonlit  night. 

Mary.     Well  then,  we'll  land,  escorted  by  the 

brave, 
Who  from  all  harm  our  company  will  save. 

The  boat  is  moored,  and  all  step  ashore  with  their 
lunch  baskets,  and  seat  themselves  under  the 
hemlock  trees,  where  the  ground  is  spread  with 
a  thick  mat  of  their  cast-off  foliage — the  accu- 
mulation of  many  years.  Their  lunch  is 
spread,  and  they  proceed  to  eat  by  the  light  of 
the  'moon.  Permilla  is  the  prevailing  spirit, 
whose  impressibility  seems  to  manifest  itself  by 
an  wmisual  charm  —  all  the  more  irresistible 

when  the  Pottawatomies  gathered  around  Fort  Dearborn,  at  Chicago, 
in  1812;  and,  hearing  of  the  dangerous  situation  of  the  garrison,  at  the 
head  of  a  few  Miami  Indians  hastened  to  its  defense.  He  arrived  in  time 
to  take  part  in  the  battle  after  the  fort  was  evacuated,  and  was  among 
the  slain.  After  the  battle  Billy  Caldwell,  a  Pottawatomie  chief,  who 
was  well  known  to  some  of  the  present  citizens  of  Chicago  (1881),  saw 
and  recognized  his  head,  severed  from  his  body,  and  buried  it  in  the  sand. 
This  was  the  last  of  that  noble-hearted  man  whose  dust  is  now  trampled 
upon  by  the  citizens  of  Chicago,  who  know  little  of  his  native  love  for 
his  fellow  creatures.  No  monument  marks  his  sepulcher,  and  historv 
alone  preserves  his  memory.  Little  Turtle's  grave  is  near  Fort  Wayne; 
over  which  stands  a  modest  tombstone  erected  by  the  United  States 
Government. 


THE  MOONLIGHT  REPAST.  93 

for  the  silent  force  that  gathers  the  group  under 
her  influence.  At  first  she  speaks  but  little; 
then  gradually  begins  to  enliven  the  company 
with  an  increased  flow  of  gentle  words,  and 
finally  gives  vent  to  the  following, —  improvised 
as  if  by  a  supernatural  power.  She  stood  un- 
der the  same  tree,  as  she  spoke,  where,  twenty-two 
years  before,  she  had  stood  conc-ealed  from  a 
frowning  world —  trembling  between  hope  and 
despair  ;  but  no  mortal  eye  had  ever  pierced  the 
secret  of  her  soul: 

When  night  had  hushed  the  busy  cares  of  day, 
And  nature  slept  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray, 
A  feeble  cry  of  innocent  despair 
Is  faintly  carried  through  the  evening  air ; 
As  when  a  cast-off  flower  before  the  wind 
Hath  left  its  lonesome  parent  stalk  behind 
To  tempt  the  sport  of  fickle  fortune's  turn, 
To  love  and  cherish,  or  to  hate  and  spurn. 
And  yet  the  accents  of  that  feeble  cry 
Pierces  the  vault  of  yonder  star-lit  sky  ; 
There  was  a  pathos  in  that  feeble  cry 
That  angels  felt  and  knew  the  reason  why : 
For  angel  eyes  can  see  with  heavenly  light 
The  mortal  heart  that's  humble  and  contrite. 
A  tempest  tossed  bird  upon  the  sea 
Far  o'er  the  deep  abyss  beyond  the  lea ; 
An  angel  tossed  a  bark  above  its  crest,— 
A  haven  for  the  little  fledgling's  rest. 

These  words  went  deep  into  the  heart  of  WILLIAM 
and  SARAH,  who  could  fully  appreciate  them  as 
far  as  their  application  to  WILLIAM,  JR.,  could 
be  traced;  but  they  knew  not  the  spirit  that  gave 
vent  to  them.  Perhaps  they  came  through  the 


94  THE  MOOOLIGHT  REPAST. 

inspiration  of  some  good  angel  that  dallied 
round  this  hermitage.  The  seal  of  silence  lent  its 
impress  to  this  feeling,  and  their  hearts  brimmed 
over  with  adoration  for  some  invisible  soiil 
whose  presence  was  felt  in  their  midst.  Where 
could  it  find  an  object  to  rest  upon  bzit  PER- 
MILLA?  SARAH  threw  her  arms  around  her; 
WILLIAM,-  JR.,  caught  the  infection  by  sympathy, 
and  tenderly  embraced  his  two  mothers. 
When  the  human  soul  is  lifted  to  a  giddy  height 
above  the  common  plain  of  life,  a  release  must 
come  by  some  transition.  PERM  ILL  A  sought 
this  in  the  arms  of  her  husband,  where  she  took 
refuge  in  a  waking  dream;  a  reunion  of  the 
tender  passions  of  youth  now  matured  and 
refined  into  an  abiding  tranquillity  : — 

As  sweet  as  childish  reveries  are, 
Within  a  mother's  tender  care. 


CANTO  IX. 

Moonlight  scene  under  the  old  oak  trees  on  the 
Church  grounds.  Wedding  of  ALFRED  and 
GRACE, and  WILLIAM,  JR.,  and  LYDIA.  A  let- 
ter to  be  opened  and  read,  which  was  written  by 
THE  OLD  MAN  (SARAH'S  father)  with  a  dying 
request  that  it  should  remain  unsealed  twenty- 
jive  years,  which  time  has  now  expired,  and  by 
common  consent  made  the  occasion  of  the  wed- 
ding of  the  young  affianced. 

\Guests  assembled. 

Old  revolutionary  soldiers  seated  on  one  side  of  a 
rustic  altar,  in  which  the  minister  stands.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  altar  are  seated  WILLIAM, 
SR.,  WILTON,  SARAH,  JUDSON,  and  HENSTON, 
with  their  wives.  In  front  of  the  altar  are  the 
two  bridegrooms  and  brides.  Outside  of  all  these 
are  the  audience,  who  came  by  general  invitation. 
After  the  marriage  ceremony  is  over,  HENSTON, 
by  request,  breaks  the  seal  of  THE  OLD  MAN'S 
letter,  and  reads  as  follows: 

ALL  nature  smiles  when  spring  begins  ; 
And  warmer  suns  the  victory  wins 
O'er  winter's  cold  and  icy  reign 
That  spreads  a  pall  upon  the  plain. 

Then  earth  takes  on  a  livelier  hue, 
And  heaven  distills  her  pearly  dew, 
And  life  and  beauty  crown  the  heath 
With  genial  summer's  emerald  wreath. 


95 


96  THE  OLD  MAN'S  LEG  ACT. 

But  autumn's  touch  these  colors  fade ; 
When  fallen  lies  the  grassy  blade ; 
And  seared  and  yellow  is  the  leaf 
That  rustles  in  the  forest  heath. 

Perennial  flowers  lay  down  to  rest, 
Reposing  on  their  mother's  breast ; 
And  beetles  pierce  the  autumn  turf, 
For  shelter  in  their  mother  earth. 

Then  all  are  hushed  again  to  sleep, 
As  winter  o'er  their  bed  shall  creep, 
Till  spring  revives  them  once  again 
To  revel  through  a  summer's  reign. 

How  perfect  then  is  nature's  hand, 
Through  God's  omniscient  power  planned ; 
To  wake  to  life,  and  hush  to  death, 
With  winter's  touch  and  summer's  breath ; 
To  recreate  with  wondrous  power 
What  time  and  tide  and  change  devour. 

And  this  is  God's  almighty  plan 
To  benefit  his  image — man  ! 
And  who  can  measure  all  the  joy 
These  changes  bring  for  our  employ  ? 

Affection's  smiles,  and  passion's  glow, 
From  these  conditions  live  and  grow ; 
And  should  we  never  live  again, 
Death  would  inspire  a  cold  refrain  ; 
But  he  who  sends  reviving  spring, 
With  nature's  voice  his  praise  to  sing, 
Will  not  annihilate  the  soul- 
The  choicest  gem  that  crowns  the  whole. 

And  higher  still  our  thoughts  shall  rise, 
When  flesh  hath  made  its  sacrifice, 


THE   OLD  MAN'S  LEG  ACT.  97 

And  mouldered  once  again  to  clay— 
The  debt  of  nature's  toils  to  pay. 

Between  the  heavens  and  the  earth 

A  mystery  gathers  from  our  birth; 

What  is  there  in  that  starry  maze — 

Along  the  welkin's  sable  haze, 

Where  dreamy  thoughts  delight  to  dwell, 

Transported  in  a  fairy  spell— 

What  visions  flame  the  shadowy  night, 

Revealing  to  our  mortal  sight 

WThat  life  on  earth  can  ne'er  bestow, 

In  our  pilgrimage  below. 

We  look  to  other  worlds  than  ours 
To  ornament  our  path  with  flowers  ; 
And  in  our  imagery  we  see 
Bright  visions  of  eternity. 

Whate'er  on  earth  is  loveliest, 
Is  there  enthroned  among  the  blest ; 
And  revels  there  among  the  spheres 
Beyond  the  vale  of  sighs  and  tears. 

This  must  be  true  as  nature's  book, 

For  when  we  in  its  pages  look, 

In  savage  life  or  civilized, 

A  heaven  above  is  improvised 

Where  earthly  griefs  are  all  condoned  ; 

Or  by  redeeming  love  atoned. 

The  Veda  even  teaches  this 

By  precept  and  antithesis ; 

And  he  is  an  iconoclast, 

To  sympathy  and  pleasures  lost, 

Who  fain  would  cut  the  immortal  thread 

By  which  the  soul  to  heaven  is  led. 

7 


98  THE   OLD   MAN'S   LEGACY. 

The  bible  teaches  us  the -same, 
Through  a  Redeemer's  holy  name  ; 
And  Solomon  and  David  sung, 
With  wisdom's  voice  and  silvery  tongue, 
The  just  reward  for  virtue  here 
Eternal  in  the  future  sphere. 

But  whether  this  is  so  or  not, 
What  gain  we  in  our  earthly  lot 
To  turn  against  our  fellow  man 
And  violate  his  Maker's  plan  ? 

Has  virtue  not  her  own  reward  ?— 
And  is  not  every  vice  abhorred 
That  love  and  innocence  offends  ?— 
Or  nature's  perfect  law  transcends  ? 

True,  evil  enters  in  the  world, 

And  vice  is  oft  amongst  us  hurled  ; 

But  ignorance  begets  it  all ; 

For,  if  we  date  from  Adam's  fall, 

A  casuist  would  surely  own 

They  should  have  let  the  fruit  alone 

For  their  own  sakes,  in  Eden's  bowers, 

Where  pleasures  chased  the  flying  hours ; 

And  would — if  they  had  known  the  fate 

That  followed  since  they  plucked  and  ate. 

Milton  has  told  the  story  well, 
Of  griefs  that  then  the  world  befell ; 
But  all  his  learning  and  his  wit 
Has  never  solved  the  mystery  yet 
By  dogmas  or  by  logic  tried  ; 
And  with  the  bard  have  others  vied 
In  essays,  and  in  faith's  decrees, 
In  sermons  and  in  homilies  — 
The  fruits  our  first  reformers  bore, 
Venerable  with  early  Christian  lore. 


THE   OLD  MAN'S  LEG  ACT.  99 

These  masters  lived  in  days  of  thought, 
And  to  the  cause  their  logic  brought ; 
It  stands  unrivaled  in  our  age 
By  ministers,  or  bard,  or  sage  ; 
And  we  accept  the  mystery, 
Bequeathed  to  us  by  their  decree. 

But  if  we  cannot  answer  why 
That  evil  thoughts  our  virtues  try, 
This  pretext  should  be  no  excuse 
Why  we  should  authorize  abuse 
Against  our  fellow  creatures  here, 
Who  come  within  our  daily  sphere. 

And  knowledge  shows  a  better  way 
To  guide  us,  lest  we  go  astray — 
In  paths  of  peace,  which  justice  knows, 
Where  honor,  grace  and  love  repose. 

With  one  accord  will  all  agree 
That  thoughts  will  live  immortally; 
These  are  the  products  of  the  mind 
To  future  centuries  consigned  ; 
Diffusive  ever,  and  unspent 
Throughout  each  earthly  continent. 

And  this  is  all  of  earthly  name 
That  immortality  can  claim  ; 
These  are  the  soul  of  dying  man — 
All  he  can  leave  to  time's  long  span. 

The  body  mouldered  into  clay 
May  clothe  another  soul  some  day, 
Or  from  its  dust  may  grow  a  flower 
That  blushes  in  a  courtly  bower. 

This  is  a  part  of  God's  design, 
In  his  economy  divine  — 


100  THE   OLD  MAN'S  LEG  ACT. 

In  change  and  evolution  seen, 
Though  ages  each  may  roll  between. 

His  perfect  law  all  nature  fills, 
And  compensates  with  good  its  ills  ; 
Though  oft  unseen  to  mortal  eyes, 
Vice  ne'er  escapes  its  sacrifice  ; 
While  God  repays  our  virtues  here 
In  blessings  in  our  earthly  sphere  ;— 
And  vain  the  voice  that  speaks  distrust, 
When  God's  and  nature's  laws  are  just. 
"  Get  knowledge — understanding  get ;" 
These  cure  the  ills  which  life  beset. 

Thus  spoke  the  patriarchal  sage, 
Who  crowned  with  wisdom  his  own  age. 
This,  children,  is  the  legacy 
That  I  bequeath  in  love  to  thee. 

'Twill  not  corrupt  with  moth  nor  rust, 
But  last  till  flesh  shall  turn  to  dust ; 
No  thief  from  you  this  wealth  can  steal 
Ere  death  shall  mark  you  with  its  seal. 

Then  when  you  cross  the  flowing  stream 
That  earth  and  heaven  rolls  between, 
This  is  the  oil  your  lamps  shall  fill, 
When  tarry  at  our  father's  will 
The  bridegroom  and  the  heavenly  bride, 
To  meet  you  on  the  other  side. 


CANTO  X. 


Twenty-four  miles  below  the  falls,  at  Louisville,  Salt  river  empties 
into  the  Ohio.  Travel  up  this  stream  through  its  low  valley  between 
two  bluffs  till  you  come  to  Rolling  fork,  and  thence  up  the  latter  till  the 
little  affluent  of  Knob  creek  is  reached,  and  here,  as  its  name  indicates, 
you  reach  the  summit  heights  which  form  a  part  of  the  sources  of  the 
main  river.  As-  from  some  elevation  you  view  the  long  range  of  bluffs 
that  vanish  into  the  southern  sky,  looking  up  this  valley  Muldrews 
Hill  is  conspicuous;  and  here  it  was  that  Lincoln's  childhood,  from 
his  fourth  to  his  eighth  year,  was  spent  along  the  waters  of  Knob 
creek;  though  the  place  of  his  birth  was  six  miles  to  the  south,  near 
Hodgensville;  where,  says  Mr.  Lamon,  "A  few  stones,  tumbled  down 
and  lying  about  loose,  still  indicate  the  site  of  the  mean  and  narrow 
tenement  which  sheltered  the  infancy  of  one  of  the  greatest  political 
chieftains  of  modern  times."  The  date  of  his  birth  is  February  12,  1809. 
On  Muldrews  Hill  the  scene  of  this  Canto  is  laid. 

WITHIN  Kentucky's  forest  state, 

That  nestles  intermediate 

The  North  and  Sunny  South  between, 

There  grew  a  boy  of  rustic  mien, 

In  muscle  strong,  and  bold  in  heart; — 

Exempt  from  all  deceptive  art. 

By  nature's  hand  the  child  was  bred, 
Untutored  in  the  ways  that  led 
To  wealth  or  luxury  or  fame, 
Inherited  by  birth  or  name. 

He  played  amongst  his  comrades  wild, 
The  ruder  sports  that  youth  beguiled 
From  burdens  of  a  riper  year 
That  in  the  path  of  life  appear ; 
As  age  the  rising  mind  matures 
Till  wisdom's  ways  success  secures. 
101 


102  ABRAHAM'S   GUARDIAN. 

One  day  he  climbed  the  craggy  crests, 
Where  eagles  build  their  sheltered  nests 
Along  the  spurs  of  Muldrews  Hill 
That  overhung  the  shadowed  rill, 
Whose  face  was  dimpled  by  the  springs 
That  gush  and  leap  in  misty  flings 
Through  fissures  in  the  dark  ravine 
Beneath  an  arch  of  foliage  green. 

And  here  he  watched  the  night-hawk's  flight, 

And  saw  the  sun  go  down  at  night, 

As  o'er  the  forest  heights  he  stood, 

Gazing  above  the  leafy  wood 

That  glittered  there  in  colors  bright 

Of  evening's  evanescent  light. 

And  soon  the  sun  went  down  to  rest 
Behind  the  crimson-clouded  West  ; 
The  stars  that  softly  shone  in  white 
Soon  deepened  into  golden  light ; — 

But  lingered  still  the  boy  to  gaze 
Upon  the  constellationed  maze, 
And  breathe  the  evening's  mellow  air, 
As  if  a  charm  had  brought  him  there 
To  hear  the  voices  of  the  night 
That  whisper  on  the  summit's  height. 

While  in  this  mood,  the  spell-bound  child 

Stood  sentinel  upon  the  wild  ; 

A  heavenly  guardian  chanced  to  fly 

Around  the  circuit  of  the  sky, 

And  saw  him  in  his  pensive  glance, 

As  if  entoiled  within  a  trance. 

'Twas  the  Old  Man;  whose  spirit  came, 
For  still  we'll  call  him  by  that  name ; 
Although  his  flesh  had  turned  to  dust, 
His  soul  reposed  in  heavenly  trust. 


ABRAHAM'S   GUARDIAN.  103 

And  often  to  the  earth  he  flew, 
The  scenes  of  mortal  life  to  view, 
Concealed  within  the  shades  of  night, 
That  heavenly  thoughts  to  us  invite 
In  silence  from  each  voiceless  world, 
That  through  ethereal  space  is  hurled 
More  swiftly  than  the  lightning's  flash, 
That  from  the  clouds  its  thunders  dash. 

The  Old  Man,  like  a  fairy  coy, 
In  silence  lingered  round  the  boy 
Till  he  had  touched  a  vital  nerve, 
That  made  his  will  a  purpose  serve ; 
A  coming  destiny  to  fill, 
Maturing  in  the  nation's  will. 

This  roused  him  from  his  reverie, 
Into  his  future  years  to  see, 
In  mortal  life,  some  noble  aim 
To  memorize  his  earthly  name. 

While  with  these  inspirations  wrought, 
Revolving  in  his  inner  thought, 
The  boy  his  devious  paths  retraced 
Beneath  the  forest's  leafy  waste, 
Through  which  the  moonbeam's  golden  ray 
In  mottled  radiance  softly  lay, 
And  trembled  with  the  leafy  wreath 
That  overspread  the  forest's  heath, 
And  bowed  before  the  evening  breeze 
That  whispered  through  the  forest  trees. 

The  Old  Man  traveled  by  his  side, 
Voiceless,  and  still  as  eventide, 
When  o'er  the  earth  its  shadows  creep 
To  hush  the  busy  world  to  sleep. 

New  life  now  kindled  in  the  boy ; 
And  far  beyond  his  years  of  toy, 


104  ABRAHAM'S   GUARDIAN. 

A  quickened  sense  of  honor  came, 
And  grew  within  his  youthful  frame. 

This  pleased  his  heavenly  guardian  ; 
Who  watched  him  as  he  grew  a  man, 
And  led  him  through  his  youthful  days, 
Unspotted  in  its  devious  ways, 
And  charmed  his  destined  earthy  path 
With  many  a  change  that  fortune  hath 
In  store  for  those  whose  matchless  skill 
Can  lead  a  nation's  sanguine  will 
through  all  the  throes  of  keen  desire, 
When  conscience  sets  its  heart  on  fire. 

Transcendent  o'er  the  laws  of  man, 
This  principle  of  truth  began, 
From  sacred  inspiration  sprung ; 
Its  echoes  fly  from  tongue  to  tongue, 
And  circulate  from  mind  to  mind, 
In  unity  its  strength  to  bind 
Intact  in  one  stupendous  whole; — 
The  genius  of  the  nation's  soul. 

Rest,  Abraham,  beneath  the  shades 
That  fringe  the  virgin  forest  glades 
That  open  to  the  sunny  light 
The  scanty  fields  of  harvest  white, 
Around  the  shades  of  Muldrews'  crest, 
The  home  your  childish  footsteps  prest. 
Rest  there,  beneath  the  heavenly  care 
That  justly  numbers  every  hair 
That  grows  upon  your  youthful  head, 
While  through  the  maze  of  life  you  tread 
The  care  whose  vigils  can  recall 
The  wreck  of  worlds,  the  sparrow's  fall— 
Whose  measure  of  omnipotence, 
Virtue  rewards  with  recompense. 


CANTO  XL 


The  following  is  from  the  memorial  address  on  the  life  and  character 
of  Abraham  Lincoln,  delivered  in  the  House  of  Representatives  February 
12,  1866,  by  George  Bancroft,  which  is  here  inserted  as  a  fitting  introduc- 
tion to  the  following  Canto. 

"  That  God  rules  in  the  affairs  of  men  is  as  certain  as  any  truth  of 
physical  science.  On  the  great  moving  power,  which  is  from  the  be- 
ginning, hangs  the  world  of  the  senses  and  the  world  of  thought  and  ac- 
tion. Eternal  wisdom  marshals  the  great  procession  of  the  nations, 
working  in  patient  continuity  through  the  ages,  never  halting  and  never 
abrupt,  encompassing  all  events  in  its  oversight,  and  ever  affecting  its 
will,  though  mortals  may  slumber  in  apathy  or  oppose  with  madness. 
Kings  are  lifted  up  or  thrown  down,  nations  come  and  go,  republics 
flourish  and  wither,  dynasties  pass  away  like  a  tale  that  is  told,  but  noth- 
ing is  by  chance,  though  men,  in  their  ignorance  of  causes,  may  think 
so.  The  deeds  of  time  are  governed  as  well  as  judged,  by  the  decrees  of 
eternity.  The  caprice  of  fleeting  existences  bends  to  the  immovable  om- 
nipotence, which  plants  its  foot  on  all  the  centuries,  and  has  neither 
change  of  purpose  nor  repose.  Sometimes,  like  a  messenger  through  the 
thick  darkness  of  night,  it  steps  along  mysterious  ways;  but  when  the 
hour  strikes  for  a  people,  or  for  mankind,  to  pass  into  a  new  iorm  of  be- 
ing, unseen  hands  draw  the  bolts  from  the  gates  of  futurity ;  an  all-subdu- 
ing influence  prepares  the  minds  of  men  for  the  coming  revolution;  those 
who  plan  resistance  find  themselves  in  conflict  with  the  will  of  providence 
rather  than  with  human  devices;  and  all  hearts  and  all  understandings, 
most  of  all  the  opinions  and  influences  of  the  unwilling  are  wonderfully 
attracted  and  compelled  to  bear  forward  the  change,  which  becomes  more 
an  obedience  to  the  law  of  universal  nature  than  submission  to  the  arbit- 
rament of  man. 

"In  the  fullness  of  time  a  republic  rose  up  in  the  wilderness  of  Amer- 
ica. Thousands  of  years  had  passed  away  before  this  child  of  the  ages 
could  be  born.  From  whatever  there  was  of  good  in  the  systems  of 
former  centuries  she  drew  her  nourishment;  the  wrecks  of  the  past  were 
her  warnings.  With  the  deepest  sentiment  of  faith  fixed  in  her  inmost 
nature,  she  disenthralled  religion  from  bondage  to  temporal  power,  that 
her  worship  only  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  The  wisdom  which  had  passed 
from  India  through  Greece,  with  what  Greece  had  added  of  her  own; 
the  jurisprudence  of  Rome;  the  mediaeval  municipalities;  the  Teutonic 
method  of  representation ;  the  political  experience  of  England ;  the  benig- 
nant wisdom  of  the  expositors  of  the  law  of  nature  and  of  nations  in 
France  and  Holland,  all  shed  on  her  their  selectest  influence.  She  washed 
the  gold  of  political  wisdom  from  the  sands  wherever  it  was  found ;  she 
cleft  it  from  the  rocks;  she  gleaned  it  among  ruins.  Out  of  all  the  dis- 
coveries of  statesmen  and  sages,  out  of  all  the  experience  of  past  human 

105 


106  ABRAHAM'S   HOME. 

life,  she  compiled  a  perennial  political  philosophy,  the  primordial  princi- 
ples of  national  ethics.  The  wise  men  of  Europe  sought  the  best  gov- 
ernment in  a  mixture  of  monarchy,  aristocracy  and  democracy;  America 
•  went  behind  these  names  to  extract  from  them  the  vital  elements  of  social 
forms,  and  blend  them  harmoniously  in  the  free  commonwealth  which 
comes  nearest  to  the  illustration  of  the  natural  equality  of  all  men.  She 
intrusted  the  guardianship  of  established  rights  to  law,  the  movements  of 
reform  to  the  spirit  of  the  people,  and  drew  her  force  from  the  happy  re- 
conciliation of  both. 

"The  choice  of  America  fell  on  a  man  born  west  of  the  Alleghanies 
in  the  cabin  of  the  poor  people  of  Hardin  county,  Kentucky, — Abraham 
Lincoln. 

"  His  mother  could  read,  but  not  write;  his  father  could  do  neither; 
but  his  parents  sent  him  with  an  old  spelling  book  to  school,  and  he 
learned  in  his  childhood  to  do  both. 

"  When  eight  years  old  he,  with  his  father  and  all  their  possessions, 
went  to  the  shore  of  Indiana;  and,  child  as  he  was,  he  gave  help  as  they 
toiled  through  dense  forests  'to  the  interior  of  Spencer  county.  There  in 
the  land  of  free  labor,  he  grew  up  in  a  log  cabin,  with  the  solemn  solitude 
for  his  teacher  in  his  meditative  hours. 

"Of  Asiatic  literature  he  knew  only  the  Bible;  of  Greek,  Latin,  and 
mediaeval,  no  more  than  the  translation  of  ^Esop's  Fables;  of  English, 
John  Bunyan's  '  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  The  traditions  of  George  Fox  and 
William  Penn  passed  to  him  dimly  along  the  lines  of  two  centuries 
through  his  ancestors,  who  were  Quakers.  Otherwise  his  education  was 
altogether  American.  The  Declaration  of  Independence  was  his  com- 
pendium of  political  wisdom,  the  '  Life  of  Washington'  his  constant  study, 
and  something  of  Jefferson  and  Madison  reached  him  through  Henry 
Clay,  whom  he  honored  from  boyhood.  For  the  rest,  from  day  to  day, 
he  lived  the  life  of  the  American  people,  walked  in  its  light,  reasoned 
with  its  reason,  thought  with  its  power  of  thought,  felt  the  beatings  of  its 
mighty  heart,  and  so  was  in  every  way  a  child  of  nature,  a  child  of  the 
West,  a  child  of  America." 

The  scene  of  this  Canto  is  laid  in  Perry  county,  Indiana,  now  Spen- 
cer county. 

A  LITTLE  glade  within  the  forest  green, 
Upon  a  gentle  rise  of  ground  is  seen, 
Beside  the  margin  of  the  forest  road ; 
And  in  the  opening  a  cabin  stood. 

Here  Abraham  came  in  youth's  expanding  pith, 
Amidst  the  spoils  and  amplitudes  wherewith 
The  early  pioneer  his  years  employed, 
By  all  luxurious  vices  unalloyed. 

The  youth  was  busy  with  his  daily  care, 
The  acres  wild  for  culture  to  prepare, 


THE  MOTHER.  107 

And  clear  the  farm  the  yellow  corn  to  yield, 
Or  blossom  with  the  flax  the  flowery  field. 

The  era  of  log  cabins  in  the  West, 
When  settlers'  feet  the  virgin  forest  prest, 
Was,  in  the  march  of  westward  empire's  way, 
The  most  distinctive  period  of  its  day. 

Here  the  young  nation's  late  fledged  wings  were 

stretched ; 

Here  were  its  growing  bones  and  sinews  fetched  ; 
Its  youthful  strength,  its  nervous  force  here  spent, 
And  here  its  growing  mind  first  took  its  bent 
Amidst  the  wilcls  of  nature's  broad  domain, 
Majestic  spread  along  the  fallow  plain. 

One  day  there  hither  came  a  bride  mature,* 
A  life  of  pioneering  to  endure, 
Which  sweetened  by  the  mother  love  she  bore 
To  Abraham — just  spoken  of  before- 
Atoned  for  many  unsupplied  demands 
Expected  from  a  mindful  husband's  hands. 

v 

Her  cabin  lacked  the  comfort  of  a  floor, 
And  all  its  light  came  through  the  open  door, 
Or  filtered  through  an  oily-paper  sheet, 
A  radiance  dim  its  inmate's  eye  to  greet. 

The  bride  when  introduced  to  such  a  place 
Concealed  her  inward  smart  at  the  disgrace, 
For  she  was  bred  beneath  a  kindlier  roof; 
But  yet  against  these  trials  she  was  proof. 

*  Abraham's  mother  had  died  two  years  after  their  emigration  to  In- 
diana, and  his  father  two  years  later  married  a  Mrs.  Johnson,  from  Ken- 
tucky, his  first  place  of  residence.  It  is  said  that  her  affection  for  young 
Abraham  was  one  of  the  inducements  that  made  her  consent  to  marry 
his  father. 


108  THE  FALLEN   OAK. 

\ 

At  her  request  a  puncheon  floor*  was  made, 

And  in  the  cabin  walls  was  neatly  laid  ; 

The  window-frames  with  glass  were  soon  supplied, 

While  other  comforts  crowned  the  fireside; 

Thanks  to  the  labor  of  her  willing  hands 

Put  forth  to  execute  her  prudent  plans. 

Young  Abraham  though  awkward  in  his  ways 
Possessed  a  gentle  heart  above  all  praise ; 
And  loved  this  second  mother  more  and  more, 
As  pleasantly  her  toilsome  lot  she  bore, 
And  oft  his  labors  in  her  service  spent, 
Were  filial  proofs  of  his  devout  intent.f 

When  metamorphosed  thus  their  forest  cot 

By  wonders  which  industrious  hands  had  wrought, 

One  day,  as  evening's  shadows  lengthened  fast, 

Before  a  carriage  that  was  driving  past, 

Fell  a  large  oak  across  the  traveled  path, 

As  if  an  angry  whirlwind  in  its  wrath 

*  A  puncheon  floor  is  made  of  logs  split  into  halves,  laid  flat  side  up- 
wards, the  joint  being  matched  with  a  broad-axe,  and  the  surface  smoothed 
with  an  adz. 

t  Says  Mr.  Lamon,  the  biographer  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  in  speaking 
of  his  father's  second  wife  (step-mother  to  Abraham  from  the  age  of  nine 
years):  *  *  *  "  She  set  about  mending  what  was  amiss  with  all 
her  strength  and  energy.  Her  own  goods  furnished  the  cabin  with  tol- 
erable decency.  She  made  Lincoln  put  down  a  floor,  and  hang  windows 
and  doors.  It  was  in  the  depth  of  winter,  and  the  children,  as  they  nestled 
in  the  warm  beds  she  provided,  enjoying  the  strange  luxury  of  security 
from  the  cold  winds  of  December,  must  have  thanked  her  from  the  bot- 
tom of  their  newly  comforted  hearts.  She  had  brought  a  son  and  two 
daughters  of  her  own,  John,  Sarah,  and  Matilda,  but  Abe  and  his  sister, 
Nancy  (whose  name  was  speedily  changed  to  Sarah),  the  ragged  and 
hapless  little  strangers  to  her  blood,  were  given  an  equal  place  in  her  af- 
fections. They  were  half  naked,  and  she  clad  them  from  the  stores  of 
clothing  she  had  laid  up  for  her  own.  *  *  *  *  In  her  own 
modest  language,  she  '  made  them  look  more  human.'  She  was  a  woman 
of  great  energy,  of  remarkable  good  sense,  very  industrious  and  saving, 
and  also  very  neat  and  tidy  in  her  person  and  manners,  and  knew  exactly 
how  to  manage  children.  She  took  an  especial  liking  to  young  Abe. 
Her  love  for  him  was  warmly  returned,  and  continued  to  the  day  of  his 
death.  *  *  *  When  in  after  years  Mr.  Lincoln  spoke  of  his 
'  saintly  mother,'  and  of  his  '  angel  mother,'  he  referred  to  this  noble 
woman." 


STRANGE   GUESTS.  109 

Had  hurled  the  monster  to  the  trembling  ground, 

Recoiling  dumbly  under  its  rebound. 

Its  fall  a  marvel  was  to  mortal  eyes ; 

And  those  who  saw  beheld  it  with  surprise. 

As  Fate  had  willed  it,  Abraham  was  there 

With  ready  hand,  to  help  the  traveling  pair 

So  suddenly  arrested  on  their  way 

Just  at  the  closing  of  the  fleeting  day ; 

The  mother  soon  appearing  to  invite 

The  unexpected  guests  to  spend  the  night. 

Now  all  is  bustle  at  the  strange  event 

By  which  distinguished  visitors  were  sent 

To  their  abode,  its  frugal  board  to  share  ; 

And  soon  the  mother's  dextrous  hands  prepare 

A  supper,  tempting  to  the  appetite, 

Spread  on  a  home-made  cloth  of  matchless  white. 

The  bread  was  made  from  corn,  and  sweet  to  taste  ; 
The  meat  was  venison,  shot  from  nature's  waste, 
With  water-cresses  from  the  limpid  spring 
Which  there  spontaneous  grew  for  gathering  ; 
And  honey  taken  from  the  forest's  trees — 
Delicious  product  of  the  native  bees  ; 
While  grapes  and  mulberries  and  haw,* 
And  other  fruits  the  native  forest  saw, 
In  rich  profusion  crowned  the  evening  feast, 
Seasoned  with  welcome  — last  but  not  the  least 
Attraction  found  within  the  forest  cot, 
Which  oft  in  vain  through  luxury  is.  sought. 

Do  not  forget  for  strangers  to  prepare, 
For  sometimes  in  them  angels  unaware  f 

*  Not  the  red,  but  the  black  haw.  It  was  a  sweet  fruit  that  grew  on 
a  shrub  about  ten  feet  high.  The  mulberry  grew  on  a  medium  sized 
tree.  It  resembled  a  blackberry  in  shape. 

t  Hebrews,  chap.  xiii. 


110  STRANGE   GUESTS. 

Are  hidden  in  the  flesh,  through  this  disguise ; 
As  messengers  that  heaven  to  earth  supplies ; 
For  who  can  tell  how  angels  lead  the  will— 
The  purposes  of  heaven  to  fulfill  ? 

These  guests  were  William,  junior,  and  his  wife, 
, Lydia,  the  artist,  she  whose  wedded  life 
Thus  far  had  in  the  forest  wilds  been  spent 
To  give  the  rising  mind  a  virtuous  bent ; 
The  two  were  missionaries  full  of  zeal, 
The  school  to  plant  to  guard  the  public  weal. 

Two  other  guests  now  came  the  cot  within  ; 
'Twas  Henry,  with  his  Gheezhigneenwateen  ; 
Strangers  they  were,  but  yet  no  cold  reserve 
Clouded  the  group  some  selfish  end  to  serve, 
But  on  a  mission  of  benevolence, 
Each  guest  gave  vent  to  gentle  words  of  sense. 

Henry  and  William  with  a  charm  possessed, 
Begat  a  mutual  friendship  in  each  breast, 
Harmonious  in  its  calm,  impressive  sphere, 
That  shed  its  light  to  all  assembled  here. 

The  noble  mother  felt  her  strength  renew 
By  sweet  communion  in  the  interview, 
That  in  her  loneliness  a  chasm  filled— 
As  if  an  angel  had  their  visit  willed. 

And  Abraham  beheld  each  honored  guest 
As  if  by  inspiration's  light  possessed- 
Akin  to  what  he  felt  when  but  a  child 
Alone  he  climbed  the  crest  of  Muldrews'  wild. 

Now  twilight  gray  had  turned  to  somber  night ; 
The  soaring  hawk  had  rested  from  his  flight, 
And  canvased  tents  are  pitched,  in  whi.ch  each  guest 
Repaired  the  day's  fatigue  with  grateful  rest. 


THE  CHARM.  .111 

When  Morpheus  had  enwrapt  them  in  his  arms, 
The  Old  Man's  spirit  came  with  sacred  charms  ; 
But  first  to  Abraham  he  softly  came, 
•To  keep  alive  in  him  the  living  flame 
That  burned  within  the  bosom  of  the  child 
Since  first  he  saw  him  on  the  crested  wild. 

Then  to  the  mother's  couch  he  silent  flew, 
To  warm  her  noble  heart  with  love  anew 
For  Abraham  —  the  humble  child  of  Fate, 
That  Destiny  had  marked  to  rule  the  state. 

Now  stealthily  the  sacred  charm  is  sent 
To  fill  the  air  within  each  sleeping  ten-t — 
When  every  inmate's  mind  began  to  dream, 
And  heavenly  visions  through  their  senses  teem. 

Henry  beheld  in  William  his  own  son ; 

And  felt  again  the  love  that  first  begun 

The  desolations  of  his  path  to  cheer 

With  hope  —  too  soon  to  die  with  frenzied  fear. 

The  forest  wild  then  stood  before  his  eyes ; 
His  heart  a  wreck — his  life  a  sacrifice; 
Then  Gheezhigneenwateen  before  him  came, 
A  hapless  victim  to  the  tender  flame, 
When  sympathy  invites  the  wreckful  pair 
Their  fortunes  in  this  life  in  love  to  share. 

Both  dreamed  the   same ;  and  when  they  wakeful 

grew, 
Again  their  hearts  are  warmed  with  love  anew. 

Now  o'er  the  couch  of  William  subtly  crept 
Celestial  visions  as  the  couple  slept ; 
At  first  their  mortal  eyes  were  made  to  see 
An  angel  pushing  down  the  fallen  tree 
That  yesterday  before  their  vision  fell, 
As  if  prostrated  by  an  unknown  spell. 


112  THE  PL  r 

This  done,  the  rustic  figure  of  a  youth 
Before  them  stood — the  champion  of  truth  ; 
'Twas  Abraham  ;  whose  patriarchal  name 
Gave  hopeful  earnest  of  a  future  fame. 

And  in  their  dreams  there  seemed  some  great  design; 
That  made  them,  when  the  'morning  came,  incline 
To  greet  again  the  tall,  untutored  boy, 
Ingenuous  in  his  speech,  in  manners  coy. 

And  Lydia,  thus  impressed,  her  canvas  drew, 
And  quickly  on  it  sketched  before  his  view 
A  figure  ;  showing  justice  true,  but  blind  ; 
With  balanced  scales  to  weigh  what  it  defined. 

This  done,  by  way  of  charm,  she  paints  a  fly ; 
Lit  on  the  scales,  illusive  to  the  eye, 
And  to  the  youth  the  hasty  picture  gives  — 
Ideal  of  the  soul  where  virtue  lives. 

Soon  came  the  mother ;  and  a  motion  made 
To  scare  the  fly  away  from  where  it  laid. 

"  The  fly's  too  tame;"  then  shouted  Abraham  ; 
"  He's  only  '  playing  'possum' — just  for  sham  : 
Suppose  to  paint  a  wilder  one  you  try  ? 
Then,  mother,  when  you  brush  at  him  he'll  fly." 

Pleased  at  the  joke,  the  company  all  smiled 
To  see  the  wit  of  the  precocious  child ; 
Then  Lydia  from  her  satchel  drew  a  book; 
And  gave  the  youth  to  in  its  pages  look, 
To  fill  the  interludes  between  his  cares, 
In  learning  what  the  youthful  mind  prepares 
In  later  years  to  fill  a  broader  field- 
Perhaps  the  helm  of  state  to  ably  wield. 

Pending  this  dalliance,  Gheezhigneenwateen 
Sat  musing  pensively  upon  the  scene : 


THE  MANITOU.  113 

Impressed  with  reverence  in  her  inner  view, 
She  felt  the  presence  of  a  Manitou,* 
Whose  voice  was  singing  through  the  forest  trees, 
Some  fairy  tale  the  listening  ear  to  please. 

And  in  its  harmony  she  faintly  hears 
The  angel  voices  from  the  heavenly  spheres, 
Speaking  the  name  of  her  beloved  son  ; 
Without  her  tender  care  his  life  begun. 

And  then  a  charm,  the  spirit  to  appease, 
That  hung  unseen  among  the  forest  trees, 
She  gives  to  William ;  in  whose  natural  face 
She  sees  her  honored  husband's  manly  grace, 

And  thus  addressed  him  when  she  gave  the  toy : 

"  William,  I  am  the  mother  of  a  boy 

Whose  wandering  footsteps  fickle  fortune  led 

To  old  Muskingum's  banks  ;  there  to  be  bred 

Among  the  customs  of  the  conquering  race 

That,  through  the  right  of  conquest,  take  our  place. 

Can  you  to  him  convey  this  sacred  charm  ? 
The  toy  may  save  him  from  some  threatened  harm  ; 
With  Henston,  lives  the  child  (well  known  to  fame), 
Among  his  kindred  he's  an  honored  name." 

A  quiet  calm  the  mother  now  possessed, 
Obedient  to  the  Manitou's  request. 

William,  surprised  her  simple  tale  to  hear, 
Which  spoke  of  those  who  were  to  him  so  dear, 
Promised  in  faith  the  mission  to  fulfill, 
In  harmony  with  her  maternal  will  ; 

*  An  Indian  spirit.     Longfellow,  in  "  Hiawatha,"  spells  it  Manito,  ac- 
cording to  the  Ojibwa  pronunciation,  but  most  of  the  Algonquin  tribes 
pronounce  it  Manitou,  the  evidence  of  which  may  be  found  from  the  fact 
that  La  Hontan  and  other  early  French  writers  spell  it  thus. 
8 


114  THE  PARTING. 

And,  in  the  presence  of  the  company, 
Received  the  token  on  his  bended  knee  ;  — 
A  mark  of  reverence  to  the  offering  due 
From  a  maternal  heart  to  virtue  true. 

Now  Henry  presses  William  to  his  breast 
With  a  mysterious  love  that  each  confessed  ; 
Unknown  the  reason  why  that  it  should  rise, 
And  destined  to  remain  a  strange  surprise. 

When  sacred  friendship  meets,  'tis  sad  to  part ; 
Though  brief,  its  toils  will  cling  around  the  heart ; 
Some  kindly  words,  and  looks  of  kindlier  cast, 
Some  lingering  thoughts  as  parting  moments  last ; 
Good-bye,  repeated  oft  and  once  again, 
As  hands  clasp  hands  while  sympathies  remain  ; 
These  were  the  partings  on  the  following  morn, 
When  light  and  forest  shade  the  glebe  adorn. 


CANTO  XII. 

WILLIAM  and  Lydia  now  returned  again 

To  old  Muskingum's  undulating  plain; 

Their  welcome  home  with  double  pleasure  smiled, 

In  contrast  with  the  distant  border  wild. 

And  first,  the  faithful  William  promptly  went 
To  Henston's  house  to  give  the  token  sent 
To  Swan — the  child  of  Gheezhigneenwateen  ; 
By  which  the  Indian  mother's  love  was  seen. 

With  filial  thanks  the  child  the  gift  received 
As  an  inheritance  to  him  bequeathed 
From  her  whose  love  he  ever  had  been  taught 
Should  constant  live  in  his  reflective  thought. 

And  though  the  lad  had  now  to  manhood  grown, 
Love  for  his  race  was  bred  within  his  bone, 
To  grow  and  gather  strength  as  year  on  year 
With  all  their  changes  in  his  path  appear. 

We'll  overleap  a  brief  hiatus  now, 
While  time  is  making  furrows  round  the  brow 
Of  Henston,  William,  Alfred,  and  their  wives — 
The  marks  of  honor  due  to  virtuous  lives. 

While  changes  thus  had  been  progressing  fast, 
Full  three  decades  of  flying  time  had  past 
Since  their  first  advent  to  the  distant  West, 
From  the  sweet  homes  their  infant  footsteps  prest. 

Part  of  their  children  had  to  manhood  grown  ; 
In  all  their  minds  their  parents'  virtues  shone, 

115 


116  THE  FAIRIES. 

And  in  the  interests  of  the  growing  West 
Their  sympathies  by  birthright  were  possessed. 

And  while  these  children  grew  to  manhood's  prime 
Within  the  bounty  of  a  western  clime, 
Cities  and  towns  into  existence  sprung 
The  fertile  western  wilderness  among. 

From  every  eastern  hamlet  hither  came 
Experts  in  handicraft  of  every  name ; 
While  freedom  was  the  genius  of  each  mind, 
With  industry  and  patriotism  combined. 

While  these  accomplishments  grew  in  the  land, 
And  in  its  growing  youthful  heart  expand, 
A  counterpoise  to  freedom's  lot  is  cast ; 
And  faintly  on  the  ear  the  angry  blast 
Portentous  comes  before  the  southern  breeze 
Like  a  dread  earthquake  in  the  trembling  seas. 

When  night  in  quietude  is  reigning  round, 
And  naught  is  heard  except  the  creaking  sound 
Of  crickets  in  their  tedium  of  song, 
In  unremitting  vigils  shrill  and  long, 
The  Fairies  gather  on  the  village  green ; 
And  round  they  fly  in  subtle  forms  unseen, 
While  with  their  chimes  the  fields  and  forest  ring; 
Unheard  by  mortal  ears  they  shout  and  sing. 

One  night  they  came,  as  oft  they'd  come  before, 
To  hold  their  revels  round  the  cottage  door 
Where  slept  Permilla,  to  inspire  her  dreams, 
And  lead  her  in  the  path  where  pleasure  gleams, 
When  one  coy  Fairy  through  the  keyhole  crept, 
And  found  the  chamber  where  Permilla  slept ; 
Then  hovering  round  her  couch  disarmed  the  spell 
That  made  her  deaf  to  what  the  Fairies  tell, 


THE  FAIRIES.  117 

And  hied  him  back  among  the  unwitting  Fays 
To  sing  in  secret  their  prophetic  lays. 

FIRST    FAIRY. 

Ten  boys  were  playing  on  the  green  to-day 
Accoutred  in  a  uniform  of  gray  ; 
And  valiantly  they  charged  the  mimic  foe, 
Who,  like  themselves,  stood  in  a  martial  row 
Like  hostile  armies  on  the  battle  plain, 
Their  country's  cause  and  honor  to  sustain. 
The  charge  was  fierce,  and  tenor  voices  high 
Yelled  out  they'd  win  the  field  or  bravley  die  ; 
And  hand  to  hand  the  troopers  young  engage, 
And  with  a  wrestle  now  the  battle  wage; 
Most  stubbornly  the  youngsters'  muscles  strain 
Goodnaturedly  the  tested  field  to  gain  ; 
For  neither  wished  to  turn  the  limbej  heel 
And  tarnish  all  the  honor  that  they  feel. 
In  this  extremity  I  interpose 
Among  the  tired  little  wrestling  foes, 
And  stealthily  I  hurl  upon  the  ground 
The  boastfulest  that  in  their  ranks  is  found ; 
This  turned  the  fickle  fortune  of  the  day 
And  gave  the  victory  in  the  heated  fray 
Where  modest  merit  in  her  strength  retires 
In  silence  from  the  battle's  hostile  fires. 
Ah  !  little  knew  the  children  of  this  fight 
That  soon  a  contest  to  decide  the  right 
Would  fan  the  burning  flames  of  real  strife 
In  which  one  of  these  boys  should  lose  his  life. 

'    SECOND    FAIRY. 

Oh  fie  !    Oh  fie  !  to  talk  of  battle's  fray 
When  quiet  reigns  along  our  flowery  way ! 
For  Cupid  we  will  work  and  not  for  Mars, 
Who  frowns  upon  us  from  the  evil  stars. 


118  THE  FAIRIES. 

FIRST    FAIRY. 

Yes,  Sister  Fay,  for  Cupid  we  will  sing, 
And  to  his  altar  still  our  offerings  bring  ; 
But  if  grim  Mars  we  never  can  appease, 
And  if  he  frowns  when  we  attempt  to  please, 
In  vain  our  arts  against  his  might  we  ply  , 
In  vain  we  sing,  in  vain  to  him  we  cry; 
For  what  are  we  against  his  powerful  arm 
Transcendent  raised  above  our  feeble  charm, 
When  nations  follow  in  his  bloody  wake, 
And  fields  beneath  the  tramp  of  armies  shake? 

THIRD    FAIRY. 

Well,  let  him  have  his  reign,  'twill  only  last 
While  vengeful  blows  the  bugle's  angry  blast ; 
Then  peace  will  follow  in  her  happy  train, 
And  we  shall  sing  once  more  the  soft  refrain 
Above  the  bloody  fields  of  battle's  strife, 
And  taste  again  the  sweets  of  social  life. 

ALL  THE  FAIRIES. 

Then  flash  the  brilliant  saber, 
Ye  valiant  boys  in  blue  ; 
While  with  the  pains  of  labor 
The  nation  groans  anew. 

And  tramp  the  fields  of  glory, 
As  onward  still  ye  go, 
And  shout  the  battle  story, 
Till  vanquished  is  the  foe. 

Then  comes  the  day  of  ransom, 
When  soft  the  bugle's  strain, 
And  home  is  dear,  and  handsome 
The  hearth-stone — once  so  plain. 

And  now  with  plenty  brimming 
Your  basket  and  your  store, 


THE  SENSUOUS  DREAM.  119 

The  ship  of  state  you're  trimming 
To  sail  as  e'er  before. 

And  then  again  we'll  muster 
Around  the  cottage  door ; 
And  treasures  there  will  cluster 
When  war  shall  be  no  more. 

The  soft  melody  of  the  Fairy  song  had  ceased, 
and  Permilla  awoke.  Every  word  they  sung  she  re- 
membered. Was  it  a  dream?  If  so.it  was  a  sensuous 
one.  A  divination  into  the  future  —  thought  Per- 
milla ;  and  yet  some  mysterious  reason,  unknown 
even  to  herself,  put  the  seal  of  silence  upon  her  lips  ; 
and,  in  secret,  she  saw  in  her  vivid  imagination  the 
bullets  pierce  the  bodies  of  the  soldiery,  the  crimson 
stream,  the  groan,  heard  the  last  whisper  of  some 
loved  name,  and  saw  the  last  quiver  in  death's  em- 
brace. Then  came  the  triumphant  yells  of  the  vic- 
tors, the  flight  of  the  vanquished,  the  pursuit,  the 
night  bivouac,  the  hospital,  the  tears  of  a  loved  one 
safely  passed  through  the  enemy's  lines  to  win  from 
death  a  lover,  or  press  his  cold  hand  when  the  last 
agony  came.  This  patomime  haunted  her  day  and 
night  —  till  again  she  heard  a  Fairy  song  of  consola- 
tion in  her  sleep. 

Two  forces  through  all  nature  run  ; 
And  ever  since  the  world  begun, 
Have  balanced  up  the  slow  arrears, 
That  on  the  balance  sheet  appears 
Against  the  rectitudes  of  man, 
Whose  actions,  God  alone  can  scan. 

And  when  the  griefs  of  life  are  past, 
And  safe  in  heaven  your  lot  is  cast, 
Then  you  shall  see  the  good  and  ill 
That  human  destinies  fulfill ; 


1 20  PERMILLA. 

Though  oft  in  hidden  footsteps  trod 
The  path  that  marks  the  will  of  God. 

Permilla's  mind  soon  settled  into  a  quiet  calm. 
She  was  aged,  but  the  tender  emotions  of  youth 
had  never  forsken  her  ;  and  from  beneath  her  locks 
of  gray  went  forth  a  glow  of  sympathy  that  drew 
around  her  the  most  precious  associations  of  life. 
To  all  others  she  was  a  stranger. 

The  evils  that  roll  over  the  great  ocean  of  hu- 
manity were  only  known  to  her  in  the  distance  far 
away  ;  for  it  seemed  impossible  that  they  could  exist 
in  her  presence,  where  all  was  harmony  and  conso- 
lation and  peace.  '  No  other  influences  could  live 
where  she  dwelt,  any  more  than  the  finny  tribe  could 
play  on  the  mountain  tops.  Hers  was  an  earthly 
throne  of  grace,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  heart  of 
haughty  ambition  toned  into  veneration  and  humil- 
ity before  her  power — mysterious  as  it  was  uncon- 
scious to  herself. 

In  the  physical  forms  of  the  vegetable  kingdom 
we  see  the  huge  trunk  supporting  the  mistletoe,  the 
sweet  scented  parasite  whose  tendrils  pierce  the 
hide  of  the  monster  and  crown  its  deformity  with 
beauty.  So  is  it  in  the  world  of  thought ;  in  all 
its  ambitions,  passions,  and  affections,  its  contend- 
ing emotions,  deep  and  impressive,  good  and  bad, 
it  is  the  magic  power  of  the  mind  that  is  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  all. 

Wealth,  unaccompanied  with  social  graces,  wraps 
itself  up  in  a  panoply  of  selfishness,  and  bidding 
defiance  to  the  world,  lies  down  and  dies  for  the 
benefit  of  its  sycophants.  This  is  the  lower  grada- 
tion of  the  social  world,  above  which  the  mistress 
or  master  of  human  affections  soars  like  an  angel, 
invulnerable  to  earthly  ills  and  when  the  old  casket 


PERM  ILL  A.  121 

that  holds  their  jewels  of  thought  is  worn  out,  the 
gates  are  thrown  wide  open,  through  which  the 
higher  forms  of  life  are  reached  immortal. 

After  Permilla's  dream  she  seemed  gifted  with  a 
new  power.  Calmly  she  moved  around  in  her  ac- 
customed sphere,  carrying  along  with  her  a  little 
world  of  tranquillity  that  made  everybody  around 
her  happy.  The  power  of  a  queen  and  the  inno- 
cence of  a  child  were  so  fittingly  blended  in  her,  that 
whoever  stood  before  her  felt  a  consciousness  that 
she  could  pierce  the  secrets  of  their  soul ;  and  at  the 
same  time  a  confidence  in  her  fidelity  to  cover  them 
with  a  veil  of  charity,  if  they  needed  it. 

Lightly  the  earth,  her  gentle  footsteps  prest, 
Towards  the  brink  of  Time's  revolving  tide ; 
In  peace  and  quietude  her  soul  possessed, 
Till  o'er  its  wave  she  sees  the  other  side. 


CANTO  XIII. 

'TWAS  autumn,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
The  western  sky  was  in  a  glow, 
And  forest  shades  were  lengthening  slow 
Along  the  fields  of  harvesting. 

The  birds  had  gathered  now  in  flocks, 
The  ripened  wheat  was  in  the  shocks, 
And  leafless  stood  the  withered  stalks 
Of  summer's  growth  perennial. 

The  boys  were  busy  in  the  fields 
To  gather  in  their  annual  yields, 
And  each  his  flashing  sickle  wields 
Against  the  yellow  cereal. 

And  now  along  the  winding  lead, 
So  somber  with  the  frosted  reed, 
Permilla  ambling  on  her  steed 
Appears  among  the  harvesters. 

Each  on  the  earth  his  sickle  threw, 
And  gently  to  her  presence  drew 
With  all  the  courtesy  they  knew, 
To  pay  to  her  allegiance. 

These  lads  were  William's  youngest  sons ; 
Whose  fortune  through  the  story  runs, 
And  since  their  growth  from  little  ones 
Were  taught  to  love  Permilla. 

122 


THE  ANGEL'S    WARNING.  123 

Well  pleased  were  they  to  see  her  there  ; 
To  in  their  work  an  interest  share, 
Or  teach  them  with  a  mother's  care 
By  precept  and  example. 

Now  bowed  each  lad  his  willing  head, 
A  few  good  words  the  matron  said, 
And  from  the  field  her  way  she  led 
In  tranquil  meditation. 

And  as  she  from  the  field  withdrew 
Ten  thousand  Fairies  round  her  flew  ; 
Unheard,  unseen  to  mortal  view, 
As  round  her  way  they  hovered. 

Outside  this  group  of  flying  Fays, 
Two  angels  in  the  mystic  maze 
In  silence  on  Permilla  gaze, 
As  slowly  she  retired. 

When  upward  turns  Permilla's  eye 
She  sees  the  Fairies  round  her  fly  ; 
And  hears  the  angel  voices  cry 
Beyond  the  group  of  Fairies. 

They  call  her  o'er  the  peaceful  stream 
That  earth  and  heaven  rolls  between, 
And  verifies  the  happy  dream 
That  crowns  the  life  eternal. 

Calmly  Permilla's  upward  gaze 
Beheld  the  welkin  in  a  blaze — 
The  twilight  of  her  earthly  days 
With  golden  hues  resplendent. 

"  From  earth  to  heaven  ere  you  fly, 
Go  speak  the  gentle  word,  good-by"  ; — 
Said  angel  voices  from  on  high, 
When  bowed  the  eood  Permilla. 


124  THE  LAST  PARTING. 

And  toward  the  house  of  William  bent  — 
Her  pilgrimage  so  nearly  spent; 
Happy  and  peacefully  she  went 
To  take  her  leave  of  William. 

Lest  heaven's  will  she  should  reveal, 
Her  careful  words  the  truth  conceal, 
As  fast  the  parting  moments  steal 
O'er  time  and  sense  now  fleeting. 

She  longed  to  clasp  him  as  her  son ; 
Still  prudence  to  her  rescue  clung, 
And  put  the  seal  upon  her  tongue, 
Till  heaven  should  loose  the  bondage. 

Her  hand  upon  his  head  she  laid, 
And  with  a  mother's  heart  conveyed 
In  spirit  what  her  tongue  forbade, 
And  gave  her  parting  blessing. 

Then  homeward  turned  her  thoughtful  way, 
A  farewell  tribute  there  to  pay, 
Where  all  her  earthly  treasures  lay, 
Which  she  must  soon  surrender. 

"  Dear  Henston,"  said  the  loving  wife, 
"  Your  tenderness  has  made  my  life 
A  living  stream  of  nuptial  joy — 
Exempt  from  all  the  rough  alloy 
That  tarnishes  the  marriage  cup, 
When  gilded  visions  fill  it  up 
With  vanities  that  fade  away 
Like  vapors  in  the  morning  ray. 

The  path  to  happiness  is  free ; 
And  far  less  difficult  to  see 
Than  are  the  complicated  snares 
That  fill  the  path  of  peace  with  cares ; 


THE  ANGEL    OF  DEATH.  125 

To  grasp  at  some  illusive  height 
That  vanishes  beyond  the  sight, 
As  lengthened  are  the  flying  years, 
And  youth  is  left  in  past  arrears. 

If  worthy  deeds  our  lives  endow, 

Then  age  may  crown  our  wrinkled  brow 

With  peace  and  consolation  true, 

As  heaven  is  dawning  on  our  view; 

And  calmly  as  a  night's  repose, 

Our  earthly  pilgrimage  will  close. 

While  thus  Permilla  spake,  she  saw 
The  Fairies  round  her  presence  draw 
To  shield  her  from  the  angel's  scythe, 
Who  gathers  oft  the  mortal  tithe 
From  every  shore  and  every  clime, 
To  pay  its  debt  to  rolling  time. 

And  nearer  still  the  angel  came ; 
And  brighter  glowed  the  heavenly  flame 
That  round  her  like  a  nimbus  shone, 
Celestial  from  the  sacred  throne. 

Slowly  she  winged  her  way  along 
Amidst  the  jealous  Fairy  throng, 
Who  still  around  Permilla  clung 
With  plaintive  voice  and  silvery  tongue, 
To  fling  about  some  subtle  charm 
To  stay  the  angel's  lifted  arm. 

In  vain  their  murmuring  voices  cried, 
In  vain  with  heavenly  power  they  vied; 
The  angel  touched  Permilla's  form, 
And  silent  grew  the  current  warm 
Which  fed  a  palpitating  heart 
That  never  knew  a  sinful  art. 


CANTO  XIV. 


The  following  bit  of  history  is  copied  from  Lamon's  "Life  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,"  p.  36,  etc.,  as  a  fitting  introduction  to  this  Canto: 

"  Abe  never  went  to  school  again  in  Indiana  or  elsewhere.  Mr. 
Turnham  tells  us  that  he  had  excelled  all  his  masters,  and  it  was  '  no 
use'  for  him  to  attempt  to  learn  anything  from  them.  But  he  continued 
his  studies  at  home,  or  wherever  he  was  hired  out  to  work,  with  a  per- 
severance which  showed  that  he  could  scarcely  live  without  some  species 
of  mental  excitement.  Abe  loved  to  lie  under  a  shade-tree,  or  up  in  the 
loft  of  the  cabin,  and  read,  cypher,  and  scribble.  At  night  he  sat  by  the 
chimney  'jamb'  and  cyphered,  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  on  the  wooden 
fire  shovel.  When  the  shovel  was  fairly  covered,  he  would  shave  it  off 
with  Tom  Lincoln's  drawing-knife,  and  begin  again.  In  the  day-time 
he  used  boards  for  the  same  purpose,  out  of  doors,  and  went  through  the 
shaving  process  everlastingly.  His  step-mother  repeats  often,  that  '  he 
read  every  book  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.'  She  says  '  Abe  read  dili- 
gently. He  read  every  book  he  could  lay  his  hands  on;  and,  when  he 
came"  across  a  passage  that  struck  him,  he  would  write  it  down  on  boards 
if  he  had  no  paper,  and  keep  it  there  until  he  did  get  paper.  Then  he 
would  rewrite  it,  look  at  it,  repeat  it.  He  had  a  copy  book,  a  kind  of 
scrap-book,  in  which  he  put  down  all  things,  and  thus  preserved  them.' 

"John  Hanks  came  out  from  Kentucky  when  Abe  was  fourteen 
years  of  age,  and  lived  four  years  with  the  Lincolns.  We  cannot  de- 
scribe some  of  Abe's  habits  better  than  John  has  described  them  for  us : 
'When  Lincoln — Abe  and  I — returned  to  the  house  from  work,  he 
would  go  to  the  cupboard,  snatch  a  piece  of  cornbread,  take  down  a  book, 
sit  down  in  a  chair,  cock  his  legs  up  high  as  his  head,  and  read.  He  and  I 
worked  barefooted,  grubbed  it,  plowed,  mowed,  and  cradled  together; 
plowed  corn,  gathered  it,  and  shucked  corn.  Abraham  read  constantly 
when  he  had  an  opportunity.'  Among  the  books  upon  which  Abe  'laid 
his  hands,'  were  '^Esop's  Fables,'  '  Robinson  Crusoe,'  Bunyan's  '  Pil- 
grim's Progress,'  a  '  History  of  the  United  States,'  and  Weems'  '  Life  of 
Washington.'  All  these  he  read  many  times,  and  transferred  extracts 
from  them  to  the  boards  and  the  scrap-book.  He  had  procured  the  scrap- 
book  because  most  of  his  literature  was  borrowed,  and  he  thought  it 
profitable  to  take  copious  notes  from  the  books  before  he  returned  them. 

"  At  home,  with  his  step-mother  and  the  children,  he  was  the  most 
agreeable  fellow  in  the  world.  '  He  was  always  ready  to  do  everything 
for  everybody.'  When  he  was  not  doing  some  special  act  of  kindness, 
he  told  stories  or  '  cracked  jokes.'  He  was  full  of  his  yarns  in  Indiana  as 
ever  he  was  in  Illinois.'  Dennis  Hanks  was  a  clever  hand  at  the  same 
business,  and  so  was  old  Tom  Lincoln.  Among  them  they  must  have 
made  things  very  lively  during  the  long  winter  evenings  for  John  John- 
ston and  the  good  old  lady  and  the  girls. 

"  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  never  able  to  speak  of  Abe's  conduct  to  her  with- 

126 


TOUNG  ABRAHAM.  127 

out  tears.  In  her  interview  with  Mr.  Herndon,  when  the  sands  of  her 
life  had  nearly  run  out,  she  spoke  with  deep  emotion  of  her  own  son,  but 
said  she  thought  that  Abe  was  kinder,  better,  truer  than  the  other.  Even 
the  mother's  instinct  was  lost  as  she  looked  back  over  those  long  years 
of  poverty  and  privation  in  the  Indiana  cabin,  where  Abe's  grateful  love 
softened  the  rigors  of  her  lot,  and  his  great  heart  and  giant  frame  were 
always  at  her  command.  '  Abe  was  a  poor  boy,'  said  she,  'and  I  can  say 
what  scarcely  one  woman  —  a  mother  —  can  say  in  a  thousand,  Abe  never 
gave  me  a  cross  word  or  look,  and  never  refused,  in  fact  or  appearance, 
to  do  anything  I  requested  him.  I  never  gave  him  a  cross  word  in  all 
my  life  His  mind  and  mine  —  what  little  I  had  —  seemed  to  run  to- 
gether. He  was  here  after  he  was  elected  President  (at  this  point  the 
aged  speaker  turned  away  to  weepj  and  then  wiping  her  eyes  with  her 
apron,  went  on  with  the  story).  He  was  dutiful  to  me  always.  I  think 
he  loved  me  truly.  I  had  a  son,  John,  who  was  raised  with  Abe.  Both 
were  good  boys;  but  I  must  say,  both  now  being  dead,  that  Abe  was  the 
best  boy  I  ever  saw  or  expect  to  see.  I  wish  I  had  died  when  my  hus- 
band died.  I  did  not  want  Abe  to  run  for  President;  did  not  want  him 
elected ;  was  afraid  somehow, —  felt  in  my  heart ;  and  when  he  came  down 
to  see  me,  after  he  was  elected  President,  I  still  felt  that  something  told 
me  that  something  would  befall  Abe,  and  that  I  should  see  him  no  more.' 
Is  there  anj'thmg  in  the  language  we  speak  more  touching  than  that 
simple  plaint  of  the  woman  whom  we  must  regard  as  Abraham  Lincoln's 
mother?  The  apprehension  in  her  'heart'  was  well  grounded.  She 
'  saw  him  no  more.'  When  Mr.  Herndon  rose  to  depart,  her  eyes  again 
filled  with  tears;  and,  wringing  his  hands  as  if  loath  to  part  with  one  who 
talked  so  much  of  her  beloved  Abe,  she  said,  'Good-by,  my  good  son's 
friend.  Farewell.' " 

THE  youth  still  plied  his  daily  toil, 
To  chop  the  trees  and  till  the  soil ; 
But  in  his  hours  of  needed  rest 
His  mind  was  in  his  books  possessed. 

And  while  the  towering  forest  oaks 
Fell  under  his  repeated  strokes, 
Chitty's  and  Blackstone's  volumes  laid 
Beside  him  in  the  forest  shade. 

These  were  the  pastime  of  his  hours 
To  discipline  his  mental  powers; 
And  thus  he  grew  a  rustic  man, 
Par  excellence,  in  limb  and  span ; 
Brimming  with  nature's  comely  grace, 
Reflected  through  his  genial  face, 
Transcendent  o'er  his  awkward  ways 
That  marked  him  in  his  childhood  days. 


128  WAR  CLOUDS. 

As  years  advanced  his  talents  grew, 
Till  all  the  cares  of  state  he  knew — 
Secreted  in  his  rising  mind. 

o 

With  jocularity  combined, 

Adapted  to  the  popular  heart 

When  he  should  act  his  destined  part 

A  turmoil  now  throughout  the  land 
Disturbed  the  work  our  fathers  planned ; 
From  far  and  near  and  all  around, 
There  comes  a  threatening,    murmuring 

sound ; 

And  every  tongue  is  bold  and  strong 
And  eager  to  avenge  a  wrong. 

Who  now  can  tell  the  destined  end 
That  heaven  shall  through  these  discords 

send  ? 

By  its  decrees  the  plan  was  known, 
And  by  its  fiat  must  be  shown. 

For  who  on  earth  the  future  sees 
Through  the  dark  veil  of  mysteries 
That  shadows  every  human  eye 
That's  born  to  live  and  learn  and  die  ? 

And  did  we  know  the  end  of  life, 
Then  neither  harmony  nor  strife 
Could  nerve  the  arm  or  soothe  the  soul, 
As  changeless  o'er  our  heads  they'd  roll. 

When  the  Old  Man  to  earth  was  sent, 
His  mission  was  through  heaven's  intent ; 
To  him  was  given  the  sacred  power 
To  choose  the  man  to  meet  the  hour. 

Full  half  a  century  before, 
He'd  dallied  on  the  grassy  shore 


THE  CHICAGO    WIGWAM.  129 

Where  Michigan's  blue  waters  lave 
The  western  beach  that  greets  its  wave. 

There  met  two  little  placid  streams ; 
That  mirrored  evening's  moonlight  beams, 
And  then  they  slow  and  softly  creep 
Together  to  the  rolling  deep.* 

Here,  mused  the  Old  Man,  is  the  spot 
Where  freedom's  hosts  shall  cast  their  lot 
In  solemn  council,  to  restore 
The  fruits  our  Declaration  bore. 

And  here  a  consecrated  seed 
He  plants  to  fruit  in  time  need; 
And  on  the  spot  a  temple  rose,f 
Defiant  to  rebellious  foes. 

And  when  the  council  in  it  met, 
Though  subtle  wiles  its  fires  beset, 
It  chose  the  naive  and  honest  man 
To  act  as  freedom's  champion ; 
Whose  walk  in  life  had  only  known 
The  way  that  heavenly  light  had  shown, 
Since,  in  his  childish  dalliance, 
The  Old  Man  charmed  him  in  a  trance, 
When  over  Muldrews'  heights  he  stood 
Gazing  above  the  leafy  wood; 
And  trained  him  up  to  fill  a  place 

To  liberate  a  servile  race. 

• 

When  all  the  hopes  of  peace  expire, 
Behold  a  nation's  youthful  fire 

*  The  topography  of  Chicago  is  here  given,  as  it  was  in  a  state  of 
nature  as  late  as  1820. 

t  The  Chicago  Wigwain,  in  which  Abraham  Lincoln  was  nominated 
in  1860  as  candidate  for  President  of  the  United  States.     It  was  built  by 
subscription  for  that  express  purpose. 
9 


130  THE  CONFLICT. 

Gird  on  its  armor  for  the  fight ; 
Each  faction  to  defend  the  right, 
As  each  the  tangled  issue  saw, 
Through  justice,  or  the  forms  of  law. 

The  forum,  press,  and  pulpit  rose, 
And  threw  the  challenge  to  their  foes 
Respectively,  as  each  forswears 
Devotion  to  their  state's  affairs. 

And  youth  by  thousands  take  the  field, 
The  sword  for  freedom's  cause  to  wield; 
The  battle's  pitched  on  many  a  plain, 
And  thousands  number  with  the  slain. 
And  still  the  conflict  rages  more, 
As  gushing  flows  the  crimson  gore; 
And  thus  the  bloody  issue  hung, 
While  vengeance  breathes  from  every  tongue; 
And  gleams  from  every  flashing  eye 
That  meets  the  foe  to  win  or  die. 

A  million  men  are  in  the  field ; 

And  still  the  end  is  unrevealed, 

But  trembles  in  the  equal  fight 

That's  waged  between  the  wrong  and  right. 

What  use  of  valor  can  be  made, 
When  soldiers  draw  the  battle  blade, 
Unless  the  higher  law  supplies 
The  altar  for  the  sacrifice  ? 

How  many  valiant  youth  shall  fall 
Where  battle  spreads  its  fatal  pall, 
Till  justice  turns  the  trembling  scale; 
And  makes  the  cause  of  right  prevail  ? 

But  yet  again  the  nation  strives 
Unmindful  of  the  soldiers'  lives, 


PERMILLAS  LETTER.  131 

To  save  the  Union  as  of  yore, 
With  all  the  fruits  that  slavery  bore. 

And  war's  alarms  and  havoc  spread, 

While  march  the  living  o'er  the  dead ; 

And  bullets  hiss,  and  sabers  flash, 

As  onward  still  the  armies  dash 

Into  the  jaws  of  instant  death, 

With  vengeance  streaming  in  each  breath. 

When  vain  illusions  seize  the  brain, 
What  virtue  can  restore  again 
Repose  to  a  distempered  mind, 
Alike  to  grace  and  justice  blind, 
Till  God  shall  raise  his  chastening  hand 
To  make  his  subjects  understand 
The  higher  law  that  circumvents 
All  evil  laws  of  man's  intents  ? 

But  while  in  heaven  the  decree 
To  loose  the  bonds  of  slavery 
Had  been  within  its  councils  made 
Before  its  fiat  is  conveyed 
To  Abraham's  reflecting  mind, 
Behold  him  to  its  will  resigned. 

o 

Sitting  alone  in  pondering  mood 
In  the  relief  of  solitude  ; 
When,  gently  tapping  at  his  door, 
The  usher  to  his  presence  bore 
A  letter  with  a  time-worn  seal ; 
As  if  its  contents  might  reveal 
A  plan,  his  wavering  steps  to  guide, 
When  justice  still  the  state  defied. 

A  man  of  sober  thought  and  years 

Had  held  the  same  through  time's  arrears ; 

It  was  a  family  heritage 

That  Henston's  wife,  mature  with  age, 


132  THE  REVELATION. 

Presented  as  a  gift  to  Swan, 

To  keep  when  she  from  earth  had  gone. 

It  told  of  what  an  angel  said 

In  visions  hovering  o'er  her  head, 

When  gentle  night  had  come  again, 

And  in  her  mind  a  calm  refrain 

Saw  acting  on  the  stage  of  life, 

Its  harmonies  beset  with  strife, 

And  thus  the  revelation  ran 

To  teach  the  will  of  God  to  man. 

When  vain  ambitions  seize  the  mind 
To  human  rights  and  justice  blind, 
And  loud  its  boastful  voice  resounds 
Amidst  the  scenes  where  vice  abounds, 
What  power  can  check  the  rising  tide 
To  evil  sympathies  allied  ? 

See  then  a  power  behind  the  veil, 
With  subtle  force  the  power  assail 
That  boasting  man  has  improvised — 
Beneath  the  forms  of  law  disguised. 

The  nation,  whose  sublimest  boast 

Is  freedom,  spread  from  coast  to  coast, 

With  slavery's  toils  in  her  embrace, 

The  paradox  she  must  efface, 

If  still  in  her  integrity 

Her  flag  shall  wave  from  sea  to  sea. 

And  when  this  issue  shall  be  made, 
And  might  against  the  right's  arrayed, 
Then  vain  pretension  comes  to  grief; 
And  truth  and  justice  find  relief 
In  giving  freedom  to  the  slave, 
The  state's  integrity  to  save.  " 


SWAN.  133 

While  Lincoln  mused  upon  this  charge, 
He  felt  the  force  of  truth  enlarge ; 
And  wondering,  raised  his  fixed  eyes, 
When  he  beheld  a  new  surprise  : — 

A  charm  that  he  had  seen  before — 
The  same  that  William,  junior,  bore 
To  Swan  —  of  Neenwateen,  the  child 
On  whose  chance  lot  had  fortune  smiled. 

The  charm  was  as  a  voucher  shown  ; 
A  reminiscence  to  make  known 
The  bearer  of  the  message  brought, 
Prophetic  in  reflective  thought. 

It  was  a  link  from  youth  to  age — 
A  harbinger  of  good  presage, 
With  youth  and  age  and  heaven  allied 
With  liberty  on  virtue's  side. 

And  now  the  thoughts  of  boyish  years 

Flew  backward  into  time's  arrears; 

A  sweet  but  transient  recompense 

For  toiling  years  through  time  and  sense, 

Through  which,  the  nation's  type  he  stood, 

In  ill  report  as  well  as  good. 

Now  Swan  his  meditation  broke, 
And  thus  in  earnest  accents  spoke. 

"  With  your  consent  the  spy  I'll  play 
Where  hostile  rebels  stand  at  bay  ; 
My  Indian  blood  and  swarthy  face 
Will  pass  me  free  from  place  to  place ; 
And  I  will  counsel  with  the  slaves 
To  act  the  part  of  Indian  braves 
Upon  the  tested  battle-field, 
The  sword  of  liberty  to  wield. 


134  PERMILLAS  SPIRIT. 

This  charm  my  ventured  life  will  save, 
Till  o'er  the  land  your  flag  shall  wave." 

Lincoln  assented  to  the  plan, 

And  thence  his  dangerous  work  began. 

Again  youth's  scenes  before  them  fly, 
As  comes  the  parting  word,  "  good-bye." 

Next  came  the  night ;  when  sleep  repairs 
The  toils  of  flesh,  of  mind  the  cares, 
When  o'er  the  couch  where  Lincoln  slept 
The  spirit  of  Permilla  crept. 

Unfelt,  she  touched  his  sleeping  brain, 
Then  hied  away  to  heaven  again. 

Once  more  the  sun  proclaims  the  day, 
Reviving  through  the  eastern  gray ; 
A  calm  is  on  the  troubled  sea, 
And  silence  reigns  along  the  lea, 
Impressive  with  a  subtle  power, 
Transcendent  in  the  eventful  hour. 

Emancipation  is  proclaimed  !  — 

The  shackles  fall — the  slave's  unchained  ! 

We'll  now  return  to  Wawbezee,* 
His  chances  of  success  to  see. 

The  Union  lines  he  passes  through, 
And  leaves  behind  the  coats  of  blue  ; 
Then  throws  his  Union  pass  away, 
Lest  he  should  meet  the  rebel  gray. 

Next,  in  the  hut  he  shelters  safe, 
Where  lies  concealed  the  servile  waif, 

*  Swan,  -whose  Indian  name  was  Wawbezee,  which  latter  he  now 
assumed  as  a  prudential  measure. 


WAWBEZEE.  135 

Who,  guided  by  the  polar  star, 
Creeps  on  to  freedom's  gates  ajar. 

And  here  in  this  concealed  recess 
In  council  sits,  through  war's  duress, 
The  bondman  waiting  for  the  day 
When  they  can  join  the  hostile  fray. 

For  even  then,  their  visions  see 
The  dawn  of  rising  liberty 
Reflecting  through  the  morning  air, 
In  answer  to  their  earnest  prayer; 
And  freedom's  virgin  fires  flame 
Within  their  hearts  in  Lincoln's  name. 

Now  further  on  Wawbezee  goes, 
A  spy  among  the  rebel  foes, 
Protected  by  the  faithful  slaves 
Whose  councils  held  in  dens  and  caves, 
In  secret  ponder  on  the  hour 
When  Lincoln,  coming  in  his  power, 
Shall  raise  aloft  the  magic  wand 
To  strike  the  fetters  from  each  hand. 

Wawbezee  went  from  place  to  place ; 
His  passport  being  Lincoln's  face 
In  tin-type  miniature  shown — 
Sacred  to  freedom's  cause  alone  ; 
Among  the  colored  race  he  saw 

& 

Disciples  of  the  higher  law. 

This  type  was  with  a  charm  possessed ; — - 
The  star  of  hope  for  the  oppressed ; — 
The  rising  star  of  Bethlehem— 
»  Redemption's  patriarchal  gem. 

And  who  can  wonder  that  the  slave, 
Who  only  saw  and  felt  to  crave 


136  THE    TIN-TTPE   CHARM. 

What  he  had  never  called  his  own, 
Should  improvise  a  vestal  throne- 
In  imagery,  a  vision  sweet, 
With  Lincoln  in  its  sacred  seat— 
The  champion  of  the  colored  race, 
To  raise  them  to  their  equal  place 
Among  the  people  of  the  earth, 
Above  them  by  the  rights  of  birth  ? 

His  tintype  was  a  chaliced  prize; 
An  altar  for  a  sacrifice ; 
A  staff  on  which  their  hopes  might  lean 
In  emblematic  figure  seen. 

And  even  o'er  the  ocean  went 
The  all  prevailing  sentiment 
Of  reverence  for  Lincoln's  face — 
The  Moses  of  the  colored  race  : 

Where,  in  the  realms  of  savage  sway, 
Far  in  the  depths  of  Africa, 
His  miniature  is  treasured  there 
Incarnate — and  with  pious  care.* 

*  The  following  letter  is  here  quoted  to  verify  this : 

"  CHICAGO,  ILL.,  Aug.  27,  1880. 
RUFUS  BLANCHARD: 

Dear  Sir, — Since  you  first  informed  me  that  you  were  writing  a 
poem  on  Abraham  Lincoln,  I  have  been  reminded  of  an  incident,  which 
shows  in  a  peculiar  and  remarkable  manner,  the  estimation  in  which  that 
great  emancipator  is  held  among  the  barbarians;  and  illustrating  in  a 
way  more  eloquent  than  words  can  utter,  the  importance  in  the  grand 
march  of  human  progress  of  the  one  great  and  sublime  act  of  his  life.  In 
1874  I  was  introduced  at  my  office  in  this  city  to  Mr.  Nimrod  Lancaster, 
a  gentleman  of  character  and  veracity  well  known  to  some  of  our  best 
citizens,  and  who  now  resides  in  the  Black  Hills.  Mr.  Lancaster  is  a 
great  traveler;  and  has  visited  almost  every  portion  of  the  known  world. 
He  had  then  just  returned  from  Africa;  a^nd  held  in  his  possession  a  large 
quantity  of  diamonds  (the  same  that  were  unlawfully  seized  that  year  in 
the  New  York  custom-house,  and  so  widely  noticed  by  the  press)  which 
he  had  obtained  in  that  country.  In  the  course  of  his  wanderings  he  had 
penetrated  the  most  remote  regions  of  that  unexplored  land;  and  he  stated 
that  in  every  instance,  among  tribes  that  had  never  seen  a  white  man  ex- 
cept Livingston,  they  were  familiar  with  the  name  of  Lincoln,  and  many 


THE  SOLDIER  SLAVE.  137 

Now,  in  the  depths  of  rebel  wiles, 
Wawbezee's  star  of  fortune  smiles; 
The  boys  in  blue  are  coming  there, 
And  "  Hail  Columbia"  fills  the  air 
With  martial  notes  of  music  flung, 
With  Hallelujah,  from  each  tongue. 

'Twas  Sherman's  army ; — marching  through, 
Clad  in  the  all  prevailing  blue- 
Harmonious  with  the  azure  skies 
That,  cloudless,  greet  our  upturned  eyes. 

When  night  had  come  his  camp-fires  blaze, 
As  evening  spreads  her  twilight  haze ; 
And  Wawbezee  sought  Sherman's  side, 
For  his  subsistence  to  provide. 

The  password  given,  all  was  right ; — 
In  counsel  then,  they  spend  the  night; 
And  Wawbezee  enlists  as  scout, 
To  pioneer  him  on  his  route 
Toward  the  broad  Atlantic  sea, 
Where  stood  at  bay  the  enemy. 

The  slave  now  in  the  Union  field, 
The  coming  issue  is  revealed : 
But  still  the  valiant  rebels  fight 
As  if  their  cause  was  just  and  right ; 
And  challenge  from  their  Union  foes 
The  praise  that  only  courage  knows. 

of  them  were  in  possession  of  his  likeness ;  which  consisted  of  small  fer- 
rotypes such  as  were  used  in  his  presidential  campaigns.  These  were 
treasured  by  their  chiefs  as  the  most  sacred  relics;  and  only  exhibited  on 
rare  occasions.  Mr.  Lancaster  said  that  he  found  this  equally  true  of 
the  liberated  serfs  of  Russia;  and  both  Africans  and  Russians  could  sing 
"John  Brown;"  each  holding  Lincoln  in  the  same  estimation  in  which 
Christ  is  held  by  Christian  nations.  The  foregoing  is  the  substance  of 
Mr.  Lancaster's  statement.  Yours  respectfully, 

D.  H.  FLETCHER. 


138  THE  SOLDIER  SLAVE. 

But  their  unhappy  lot  is  cast 
Among  the  shadows  of  the  past, 
That  vanish  in  a  riper  age, 
When  progress  marks  the  written  page 
That  runs  with  flying  time  abreast 
With  Empire's  star  toward  the  West. 

And  when  the  sacrifice  is  spent, 
And  silent  is  each  battlement, 
And  every  hostile  gun  is  still 
That  bristles  from  the  tented  hill, 
And  homeward  bound  the  soldiers  go 
And  leave  behind  a  conquered  foe, 
Then  prouder  yet  the  flag  doth  wave 
.  Above  a  land  without  a  slave. 

And,  "buried  in  oblivion  deep 
Let  all  the  transient  vengeance  sleep 
That  flamed  above  a  sense  of  right 
To  fire  the  soldiers  in  the  fight  ;  — 
Said  Lincoln,  in  the  charity 
That  God  and  angels  best  can  see. 


CANTO   XV. 

'TwAS  evening; — when  the  softened  light 
Of  stars  was  shining  o'er  the  lea; 
And  calm  and  peaceful  as  the  night, 
Triumphant  rose  a  sense  of  right 
When  victory  crowned  the  challenged  fight 
In  many  a  bloody  revelry. 

'Twas  evening; — when  its  sweet  repose 

Invites  the  weary  form  to  rest; 

And,  in  the  strength  that  justice  knows, 

A  nation's  grateful  heart  arose 

In  silent  force  above  its  foes, 

To  hush  to  peace  each  angry  breast. 

'Twas    evening; — when   the   watch-word 

spread, 

"  Malice  to  none,  and  charity," 
Rest  on  the  living  and  the  dead, 
Who  sleep  on  battle's  gory  bed, 
Till  foul  revenge  and  hate  hath  fled — 
While  millions  join  the  jubilee. 

'Twas  evening; — when  recoil  so  sweet 
Above  the  din  of  care  unbends; 
When  Lincoln  turned  his  willing  feet 
To  revel  in  a  glad  retreat, 
And  in  a  social  group  to  meet 
In  joyous  fellowship  his  friends. 

139 


140  THE  SACRIFICE. 

But  while  those  evening  shadows  last, 
So  gently  flung  upon  the  plain, 
Again  the  throes  of  death  are  cast; 
Again  revives  the  hostile  blast, 
Revengeful  of  the  bloody  past, 
And  Lincoln  falls  !  a  victim  slain  ! — 

Then,  trembling  on  the  magic  wire, 
Throughout  the  land  the  tidings  run ; 
And  weeps  afresh  the  aged  sire, 
And  pathos  tunes  the  mellow  lyre, 
And  vengeance  gleams  from  eyes  of  fire- 
Revenge  !  Revenge !  the  deed  is  done. 

Across  the  deep  the  tidings  went, 
To  peasant,  prince,  and  royal  king; 
And  spread  through  every  continent — 
How  fell  the  martyr  President, 
When  carnage  on  the  field  was  spent ; 
And  peace  had  made  her  offering. 

Then  tolled  the  muffled  funeral  bell 
In  every  hamlet  in  the  land — 
The  honors  of  his  life  to  tell- 
How  in  the  cause  of  right  he  fell 
The  victim  of  a  fiendish  spell— 
The  victim  of  a  vengeful  hand. 

The  willow  sighing  o'er  his  grave, 
And  the  perennial  laurels  bloom, 
Mark  where  the  bravest  of  the  brave — 
The  champion  of  the  servile  slave, 
Who  lived  and  died  his  land  to  save— 
*         Rests  in  his  peaceful,  honored  tomb. 

Time  may  roll  on  his  endless  chain, 
And  revolution  spread  her  pall — 
Still,  o'er  his  dust  a  calm  refrain 


THE  NATION'S  SHRINE.  141 

Majestic  there  shall  ever  reign, 
Where  rises  on  the  grassy  plain 
The  monument  that  marks  his  fall. 

America,  here  is  thy  shrine;— 
To  be  bequeathed  to  future  years — 
A  light  from  age  to  age  to  shine 
Illustrious  in  the  great  design, 
Which  human  nature,  through  divine, 
Hath  hallowed  by  a  nation's  tears. 

Time's  footprints  write  his  eulogy, 
Recorded  on  its  'shining  shore- 
That  future  millions  yet  to  be, 
In  passing  by  its  rolling  lea, 
May,  on  its  living  tablet,  see 
The  fruits  his  inspiration  bore. 

This  monument  that  loyal  hands  have  made 
Rises  above  his  tenement  of  clay ; — 
Ideal  of  the  homage  to  be  paid 
To  thought  and  actions  in  the  life  displayed 
Of  him  whose  will  the  golden  rule  obeyed 
(The  TYPE  and  GENIUS  of  AMERICA). 


HISTORICAL  WORKS 

OF 

RUFUS    BLANCHARD. 


Historical  Map  of  the  United  States, 

Showing  early  English,  French  and  Spanish  Discoveries  and  Explora- 
tions ;  also  Forts,  Towns  and  Battle-fields.  Neatly  mounted  on  cloth 
and  folded  in  a  Russia  case  for  the  library.  Size  of  map  54  x  58 
inches.  Price  $8.00. 

The  same  mounted  on  rollers,  for  the  use  of  High  Schools  and  Colleges. 
Price  $5.00. 


The  Discovery  and   Conquests  of  the  Northwest, 

With   the    History  of  Chicago.     768  pp.     Octavo,  cloth,  $4.00.     Half 
Turkey  Morocco,  $5.00.     Full  Russia,  gilt  top,  $6.00. 


Discovery  and  Conquests  of  the  Northwest, 

Including  the  early  History  of  Chicago,  Detroit,  Vincennes,  St.  Louis, 
Fort  Wayne,  Prairie  du  Chien,  Marietta,  Cincinnati  and  Cleveland. 
515  pp.  Octavo,  cloth,  red  edges,  $3.25.  Leather,  full  bound,  marbled 
edges,  $3.75.  Full  Turkey  Morocco,  gilt  edges,  $5.50. 


Abraham  Lincoln,  the  Type  of  American  Genius, 

AN   HISTORICAL   ROMANCE. 

144  pp.  Octavo,  cheap  edition  in  muslin,  $1.00.  The  same  in  full 
Russia,  gilt  top,  $3.00.  The  same  on  extra  paper,  full  Turkey 
Morocco,  gilt  edges,  $5.00. 

Any  of  the  above  sent  by  express,  or  mail,  on  receipt  of  price. 

R.  BLANCHARD  &  CO., 

WHEATON,  ILL. 


. 


m 


